


Two years and two weeks

by Magfreak



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magfreak/pseuds/Magfreak
Summary: After the end of her two year relationship, Sybil Crawley is convinced that love doesn't exist. But events surrounding her sister Mary's sudden engagement and whirlwind wedding force her to question everything she thinks she knows. Inspired by the movie 500 Days of Summer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the movie 500 Days of Summer, telling the story from the point of view of the girl (Sybil). It doesn't mimic the action in the movie, and you don't have to have seen the movie to understand what's happening, but the basic premises are that (1) not every relationship is meant to last forever and (2) love doesn't make sense until it does.

Love is full of all kinds of clichés.

The one Sybil Crawley found most irritating was the idea that it hurts to have your heart broken but not to break someone else's.

_This_ , Sybil thought, _is simply not true_.

After Sybil broke her best friend's heart, for a time after the fact, she believed she would never be a whole person again. She'd broken up with people before, but not like this. She was miserable that she'd made him so sad and angry that he'd given her the power to do so. She was free again, but felt trapped by the freedom the break up had afforded because if she enjoyed herself too much, their mutual friends would think she was insensitive. If she wallowed like she knew _he_ would, they'd think Sybil was mad for having cut him off in the first place.

He got the sympathy. Sybil got the cold shoulders—or worse, the questions and recriminations: _Why? But you were so perfect together! He's such a nice bloke! What's wrong with you?_

Because she wasn't happy. No, they were not, in fact, perfect together. Yes, he's incredibly nice, the nicest person she knew, but someone can be nice and still not be the person for you.

But that last question.

_What's wrong with you?_

That's the one that always tripped her up. Why did something have to be wrong with Sybil? So she didn't subscribe to the idea that being with someone was her sole purpose in life. She didn't want a Disney prince to sweep her off her feet. She considered love an invention by people who sold flowers and chocolates. She hated that her gender was raised to be a slave to it. She didn't need it, and in the end, she didn't need _him_. He needed her too much. It was stifling. Love was stifling.

Breaking up takes a piece of your soul but nobody thinks about the feelings of the dumper. Only the dumpee.

It had been a month, but Sybil remembered the day like it had happened yesterday.

They'd eaten sandwiches in the park.

They'd spent the whole day together, in fact.

They'd gone to the shops.

They'd gone to her favorite café and had a cuppa. She read a book, while he read the newspaper.

They'd gone to the cinema.

They'd gone to his favorite music shop, and she'd rolled her eyes as he swooned over a Ringo Starr album. ( _Ringo? Really?_ She'd thought. He was mostly joking, of course, but her irritation with him, now building for weeks, clouded her impression of what she was seeing. And, from within his own personal bubble of one-sided love, he missed the fact that they clearly were not on the same page.)

Then, they'd gone for a bite. It was early, but a new place had opened near his flat that served breakfast all day. He was keen to try it. Sybil had no reason not to go along. She was hungry.

"God, I love eating pancakes at night," he said after they'd ordered. "It's like the greatest thing ever. How great is this?"

Sybil had been unhappy that whole day. Nothing in her demeanor was trying to hide the fact, but he didn't see it. He _wouldn't_ see it. He was having a grand time out with his girlfriend, who was exhausted from a shitty week at work. And he couldn't see it. He couldn't see _her_. And his seemingly innocuous question finally broke Sybil.

How great is _this_?

_Pretty fucking NOT great is what it is._

"I think we should stop seeing each other," she said.

There it was.

What she'd been wanting to say for so long, but couldn't bring herself to do so because it would bring, she knew, the expression on his face that he was wearing right now. Ironically, Sybil thought, looking into his eyes just then, that this was the first time he was seeing her. The _real_ Sybil, and not the perfect woman he'd created in his own mind to fall in love with. But it was too late.

"This thing," she said, taking a deep breath. "This whatever it is. You and me. Do you think this is normal?"

"I don't know," he said calmly, though she could see him trying to fight off the agitation. "Who cares about normal?! I'm happy. Aren't you happy?"

"You're happy?" Sybil asked, a measure of frustration seeping out.

"You're not?"

"All we do is argue!" She exclaimed.

"That is such a lie!"

Sybil's shoulders dropped as she let out a sigh. The willful ignorance was back. "This can't be a total surprise. I mean, we've been like Sid and Nancy for months!"

"Sybil, Sid stabbed Nancy seven times with a kitchen knife. We've had some disagreements but I hardly think I'm Sid Vicious."

"No, _I'm_ Sid."

"So I'm _Nancy_?!" He asked skeptically.

Sybil spied the server coming with their food, happy for the break. It was foolish and, she had to admit, plainly insensitive to have done it like this—in a public place, at the _start_ of a meal, rather than the end. This wasn't how she'd meant for it to go, and now that she was in the thick of it, she was grateful for the reprieve. Cowardly, maybe, but her point was not to hurt him, only to have him wake up.

"Let's just eat and we'll talk about it after," she said. "I'm starving."

He sat still and stared as she tucked in. She was afraid to look up because she knew what she'd see in his eyes. Heartbreak. She couldn't deny it. She had, she knew, for all intents and purposes, broken his heart. No, she wasn't in love with him, never had been, really, but she still cared for him as a friend. He was perhaps the closest she'd ever had. And seeing him hurt also hurt her.

So she tried to take a page from his book—avoidance.

"Mmm, you're so right. These are great!"

He couldn't stomach a bite of it.

**"** What?" Sybil asked, trying to goad him into reacting in some way.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he stood up to go.

"Tom, don't," she called out. "Come back. You're still my best friend!"

Those were the last words that she'd spoken to Tom Bellasis.

That was how the two years ended. The two weeks were about to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**One month later**

"So will you come to the wedding?"

Sybil smiled at her friend's eagerness. "Of course, I'll come, Imogen . . . if you really want me there."

"I do! And aren't those words you just long to hear me say in front of dozens of people?" Imogen said, playfully batting her eyelashes.

Sybil laughed at her giddiness. In truth, it never took much to get Imogen excited, so Sybil could only imagine how over the moon she'd be on the day of her wedding to her sweetheart, Ben.

The two friends had met up at a small teahouse in York, where Sybil had lived and worked for her first three years out of uni—and where Sybil and Tom Bellasis had lived out their doomed relationship. Sybil had taken the train up for the day and stopped to meet Imogen on the way home to Downton Abbey, where she was going to see her parents for the first time since she'd moved to London a few weeks before. The move had been an impulsive decision, but she wanted a clean break and a fresh start. She'd always longed to live there, and nothing—certainly not a dead-end relationship—was stopping her now.

"Ben will be happy too," Imogen said.

"You don't have to guild the lily," Sybil said teasingly.

Imogen's smile faded a bit. "I know how he was after you and Tom ended things, and it wasn't fair."

"He was just being a loyal friend," Sybil said with a sigh.

"You're our friend too! There was no need to shut you out or to blame it all on you."

Sybil looked down but didn't say anything.

"Listen, Sybil. I know . . . well, I know we only really got to know you after you two were going out, but I'd always wanted to be your friend. Truly."

Sybil looked up again and saw the sincerity in Imogen's eyes. It was odd for Sybil to think of Imogen and Ben and not think of how much time she and Tom Bellasis had spent with them and how close they'd all become in such a short amount of time.

Ben and Tom had been mates at university, and Sybil and Imogen had been working at the same hospital as nurses for a year, both hired right after their graduation from nursing school. One night, Sybil invited Tom to an outing with friends from the hospital, and he showed up with Ben. It proved a fateful night, for the mix of drinks and karaoke tipped a reluctant Sybil toward the "more" side of "more than friends" with Tom. And it was the night Imogen and Ben met.

They were two young couples having a laugh, one with a veritable spark, the other only pretending to have one.

"I should have stuck up for you more, and I'm sorry," Imogen said quietly. "I just didn't know how to react. It was, um . . . rather sudden."

Sybil shrugged. "It was and it wasn't.

"What do you mean?"

"I never really loved him. I mean, I did, it's just . . . "

Imogen smiled sadly. "You were never _in love_ with him?"

Sybil shook her head. "It's weird. I knew I wasn't going in, but he's been my friend since we were kids. I just let him convince me that I eventually would be."

"Well, it's over now and regardless of what happened, you're coming to get good and pissed with me and Ben on our wedding day. I know we sent you one invitation to both of you, but just because you won't come together doesn't mean _you_ can't come at all."

"Good," Sybil said with a nod.

The two girls laughed. It made Sybil happy to have taken the time to clear the air with her.

"So how are things going?" Sybil asked. "I can imagine the details are driving you mad now that it's only three weeks away."

"I _am_ excited, and I know that I'll enjoy myself on the actual day, but the planning of it saps you of the will to live."

Sybil laughed. "Well, at least there's not much more to go."

"Thank, heaven. And really, Syb, I've been so consumed with it that I'm more than happy to talk about something else. Like you! How's London? I'm dying to know how you're getting on! Have you started looking for a job?"

"Only just. I'm finally settling into my own flat. I came up to get a few things from home to bring back with me, in fact. But so far it's been really good. I mean—I know I haven't been there long, but it's exciting to be somewhere new. I don't have to deal the possibility of mum popping by unannounced, which is nice, and I'll see my sisters more."

"How's Mary? I saw the announcement in the paper yesterday that she's engaged."

Sybil nodded as she sipped her tea. "You'll love this. They've decided to forego the traditional wedding and invite everyone on holiday with them to Hawaii, leaving Friday as a matter of fact."

"Oh you mean like a destination wedding?"

"Is that what it's called?"

"That's when you ask everyone who wants to come to travel with you somewhere so it's like you have your wedding and your honeymoon all at once."

"Yeah, I guess it's something like that. It was rather a last-minute decision, so it's only going to be immediately family—Matthew's mum, Edith and our parents."

"Oh, that'll be lovely! Though, I've to say I'm shocked she's not marrying at Downton."

"I am too. They might have a reception there later, but they're really keen on doing it right away. And Matthew's firm represents the parent company of the resort where they're all staying, so it's free other than air fare."

"As if that's an issue for the daughter of the Earl of Grantham," Imogen said with a roll of her eyes.

Sybil laughed, knowing her friend to be teasing. Unlike most of the "posh set" she'd grown up with, Sybil lived a simple life, worked a job and surrounded herself with people who loved her for who she was. Tom Bellasis was the son of her Uncle Marmaduke's banking partner, and as such his family was on the lower fringe of the upper class, but they were not of aristocratic stock like the Crawleys and their wealth didn't quite compare to the Grantham estate. Tom was a quiet, humble kid, which was why Sybil and he became friends, a friendship that Sybil still hoped could be repaired someday.

"So when do you leave?" Imogen asked.

Sybil bit her lip. "I'm not sure I'm going."

"WHAT!" Imogen stopped short. "Sybil! You're turning down a holiday in paradise, not to mention missing your sister's wedding!? Why?"

Sybil shrugged.

"Well, can I come in your place?"

Sybil laughed.

"I'm dead serious!"

Sybil sighed, still smiling at her friend. "I likely _will_ go—at least, I know mama will insist I do when I get home tonight."

"Why don't you want to?"

"It just feels weird. Me at a wedding when I just broke up with someone because I find the prospect of love rather nonsensical."

"You didn't _just_ break up. It's been two months, and as to the 'love nonsense' as you call it. Do you really think your sister is making a mistake getting married?"

Sybil smiled ruefully. "She's the exception that proves the rule."

"And me?"

"You, too." Sybil looked down at her hands. "I just don't think it's for me, OK?"

"OK. But Sybil, it's _Hawaii!_ Go and have fun."

"I know. And I know that once I'm lying on the sand with a cocktail in my hand I'll be happy to be there. But right now the prospect of a weekend devoted to romance when I'll be the only person alone sounds a bit dreadful."

"Well, you could take care of that, you know."

Sybil couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Oh, I'm not saying get back together with Tom. I mean take someone else. Isn't there someone you're interested in you could invite?"

"I'd wager it's going to be a long, long time before I have interest in anyone," Sybil said, taking a sip of her tea.

Imogen smiled. "I doubt that very much, but maybe going alone will just leave you available for some whirlwind island fling. A sun-kissed American _surfer_ _dude_."

Sybil laughed at her friend's meager attempt at an American accent. With a sigh, Sybil said, "I won't hold my breath."

"You should go. Forget romance. Drink cocktails with tiny umbrellas, eat good food, enjoy the sun and your family. Then start your new life in London a new woman."

"Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like good advice."

"Then, TAKE IT!"

Sybil laughed, "All right then!"

**XXX**

After spending a few more hours catching up with Imogen (and learning that Tom was a still a bit of a mess, post-break-up), Sybil finally made it back to Downton Abbey. Carson, the family's butler, greeted her with a smile at the door and reminded her that dinner would be served at 7 p.m.

Sybil made her way up to her room, where her mother had already brought in several boxes for her to pack up and was currently sifting through old mementos from Sybil's childhood.

"Do you know that you can take a van to the top of Waimea Canyon and bike all the way back to the beach, without even having to pedal?" Cora asked her daughter, without turning to look at her.

Sybil smiled. "Yes."

"We're doing that on the second day. And on the third—"

"OK, I'll go!"

Cora finally turned back to Sybil, who'd come in and flopped down on her bed. "Good. Now call Anna right now and tell her, so she can make the arrangements."

"I'll call first thing tomorrow."

Cora pursed her lips. "Darling, just call now and get it over with."

Sybil sighed, and without getting up, reached for her mobile in her back pocket and looked up Mary's assistant's number.

**XXX**

"Hello?"

"Hi, Anna, it's Matthew."

"Oh, hi, Matthew," Anna said smiling. "Mary's been in meetings all day. I can knock on her door if you like?"

"That's not necessary. I wanted to talk to you, actually. I finally heard back from Tom. He will be coming to Hawaii with us, after all."

"Good! You can't get married without a best man."

Matthew laughed. "That's what I told him. Anyway, he's visiting his family in Dublin at the moment, so he won't be flying in with us, but do add him to our block of rooms."

"OK, that's two late comers in one afternoon."

"Who's the other?" Matthew asked.

"Sybil just called. She's coming as well."

"Brilliant. You're the best!"

Anna laughed. "Thanks."

Just moment after she'd hung up, Mary stepped out of her office. "Tell me again, why did I become a tax lawyer?"

"The glamour," Anna deadpanned.

Mary laughed. "If only."

"An update on Hawaii. Sybil called and said she's coming."

"Finally! Who knew it'd be such hard work convincing a 25-year-old to have some fun."

"Oh, and Tom is coming as well."

Mary stopped short. "Really?"

"Won't be flying with the family, but he'll be there."

Mary's brow furrowed. "Golly, I wasn't expecting that, but I suppose if she wants to give it another try . . ." she said quietly, almost to herself.

"What?" Anna asked.

"Never mind," Mary said. "Just make sure they have a king suite—one with a Jacuzzi. And beach front. They deserve some fun after everything that's happened." She turned to go back into her office.

"You mean you want them to share a room?" Anna asked, confused.

"A suite!" Mary said, closing the door behind her.

_Do they even know each other?_ Anna thought.

With a shrug of her shoulders, she picked up the phone again, dialing the travel agent.

"Hello, Patty," she said, when the agent on the other end had picked up. "This is Anna Bates calling for the Crawley family wedding party. I need to add one room to the block—a suite if possible. Beach-front. King-size bed. The guests' names are Sybil Crawley and Tom Branson."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note on Edith: she is a lesbian in this story and Gwen is her wife. I don't usually genderswap in fanfic, but this story is at least partly about relationships and how they work and I wanted to include something within the Crawley family dynamic that was fundamentally different from Mary and Matthew's relationship as well as Cora and Robert's.

 

"How about this one?"

Sybil looked over to Gwen, her longtime friend turned sister-in-law, as the latter held up what could only be labeled as a "bodice-ripper," given the image on the cover of a woman whose dress had been torn in such a way as to reveal her ample cleavage and who was pulling a man toward her by his shirt, which was also in tatters. Sybil could only laugh.

The two were standing in the middle of a busy airport bookstore in Heathrow waiting for their flight to Los Angeles en route to Hawaii. They would be in the air for a total of seventeen hours, and though Sybil had loaded her iPad with e-editions of some of her favorite books, along with some Doctor Who reruns, the battery wasn't likely to last the whole way. It was also something of a habit for her to start a new book at the start of a journey, but today, the pickings were slim.

"No romance novels, please," she said to Gwen.

"This is a good one!" Gwen insisted.

"Read it, have you?"

"Actually, I have. I did a seminar last year on feminism and the romance genre, and this author holds up to scrutiny pretty well."

Sybil crinkled her brow. "So the girl doesn't fall for her rapist in this one?"

"Hardly. In fact, with this writer, the girls are the ones doing the seduction most of the time. There is a greater balance of power between the protagonists and the smut is actually quite well written."

Sybil laughed. "Well-written _smut_? That might be the funniest thing you've ever said."

"As a future doctor of women's studies, I think you should take my word for it," Gwen said, pushing the book into Sybil's hands.

"What have you got there?"

Both girls turned to see Sybil's sister Edith come up the aisle with a box of Swiss chocolates in her hands.

"They didn't have the hazelnut," Edith said to Gwen, "so I got you the dark. Hope that's fine."

"It is, thanks, luv," Gwen said. "We're trying to find something for Syb to read on the plane, but she's _judging_ my suggestions."

"I just want something good. This kind of stuff's a bit ridiculous."

Edith rolled her eyes. "This coming from the girl who read Lady Chatterly's Lover five times when she was sixteen."

"That's different! That's literature! Besides, I was sixteen. Nothing that you do at that age should ever be held against you."

Gwen laughed. "Sybil, Lady Chatterly was so racy it was banned in England."

"It was still D. H. Lawrence, who's bound to be better than whoever this is."

Edith took the book from Sybil and read the title aloud, "The Jewel of York."

Gwen took the book from Edith. "She's being difficult on purpose. We're going to buy it for her, and she'll love it, and we're putting ourselves in charge of making sure she doesn't mope the whole time we're on holiday."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I'm right here."

"And while you're here," Edith said, taking Gwen's hand, "we'll be at the register to pay."

Sybil couldn't help but smile as they walked off hand in hand. Sometimes it seemed a bit absurd to Sybil how perfect they were for each other. Whenever Sybil questioned whether love was real, she thought of them, which was rather ironic considering that for some closed-minded people, their relationship wasn't worthy of the supposed ultimate expression of love—marriage. They weren't married in the legal sense, but they were in the only sense that Sybil thought mattered.

Gwen had been Sybil's friend for as long as they both could remember, Gwen's mother having worked as a housekeeper at Downton Abbey from the time they were both in nappies. Sybil had been the first person Gwen confided in about her sexuality when they were still in school. Gwen's parents had been reluctant to embrace their daughter's revelation when she came out to them, so for several years, Sybil and her sisters were the only people Gwen felt truly supported and loved her. When Gwen left for university, her absence made her parents remember how much _they_ loved her and they came around.

The time Gwen spent with the Crawley family, seeking refuge from a home in which she didn't always feel welcome, was what made Edith, in turn, realize her own truth. She'd always been awkward and unlucky around boys and attributed it to some fault in herself—particularly when she compared herself with her ever-popular older sister Mary. She was four years older than Sybil and Gwen, but felt a bit in awe of her sister's friend's maturity. Once, driven by curiosity, Edith asked Sybil if she'd ever wondered what it would be like to kiss Gwen.

Sybil had laughed and said, "Not really. Not like _that_. She's the lesbian, not me. Honestly, Edith, what a question."

What a question, indeed. Why had she asked at all? Edith looked inside of herself and found that the reason was simple. _She_ wanted to kiss Gwen.

That was the beginning of their beginning.

**XXX**

Chocolates and books bought and paid for. Edith, Gwen and Sybil made it back to the gate where the rest of their family was waiting, and it was only minutes later that it was time to board. The group took up almost the entirety of the first class cabin. Robert and Cora sat on the first row on one side of the aisle, with Edith and Gwen across from them. Behind Robert and Cora, sat Matthew and Mary, and behind them Matthew's mother Isobel and her longtime friend and companion, Richard Clarkson, who also happened to have been the Crawley daughters' pediatrician when they were growing up and the person who inspired Sybil to become a nurse. Of the Crawley party, only Sybil was without a seatmate, sitting behind Edith and Gwen, but she welcomed the extra space and looked forward to lying down across both seats once the plane was in the air.

When the aircraft pulled out of the gate and began to taxi in preparation for takeoff, Mary looked across the aisle to Sybil and raised an eyebrow at her choice of reading material.

"What in heaven's name is _that_?"

Sybil smiled. "It's top of the class romance, according to Gwen."

Mary leaned over the aisle to look at the cover. "The Jewel of York by T.B. Nightingale?"

"I'm sure it's a made up name," Sybil said with a shrug. "The point is escape, darling, not cultural enrichment."

Mary laughed. "By the way, I've been wanting to ring you all week, but with all the craziness of work and the holiday, I hadn't had the chance. How are things?"

"Other than me getting settled into my flat, you haven't missed much."

A confused look came over Mary's face. "I'd say you and Tom getting back together was a big thing to have missed."

"What in the world gave you that idea?"

"Anna said you called and told her you were both coming," Mary replied. "She booked you a suite."

As the plane rose into the air, Sybil felt her stomach sink. Turning with her whole body toward her sister—as much as she could with her seatbelt on—Sybil said with a measure of alarm in her voice, "Mary, I can assure you that Tom and I have not gotten back together. And I most certainly wouldn't say such a thing to Anna. Ask mum! She was there when I called. For the gazillionth time, the relationship is over."

"I'm not making it up! I distinctly remember her saying Sybil is coming and Tom as well. Who else could she have been talking about?!"

Mary felt Matthew shift beside her. She turned her head to look over at him and was disconcerted by the amused look on his face.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

Matthew smiled. "What's my best friend's name?"

"Branson, silly. What are you talking about?"

"His _first_ name?"

"T—Tom." _Oh dear._ The truth dawned suddenly and unforgivingly on Mary and she sank back into her seat. "Anna was talking about two different phone calls," she said, burying her face in her hands.

Matthew started to laugh, which confused Sybil all the more.

"What's going on?" Sybil asked.

Mary looked back and forth between her sister and her fiancé. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Nothing that can't be taken care of. Just read your book and let me worry about it, OK?"

Sybil turned so she was facing forward again and tried to fight off the feeling of dread that came over her as she looked at her now clearly worried sister.

**XXX**

The moment the plane landed in Los Angeles, Mary turned on her mobile to call the resort to ask for another room. Luckily, a last minute cancellation had created a vacancy, but it would not be available for two nights and it was in a smaller, decidedly less swanky room. Matthew assured Mary that his friend would happily take the smaller room and leave the beachside suite to Sybil. So Mary, as gently and apologetically as she could, broke the news to Sybil that for the first two days in Hawaii, she'd have a roommate.

"Think of it this way," Mary said, "We're going to be spending all our time by the pool drinking cocktails, so who cares where you're sleeping, right?"

Annoyed and upset, Sybil walked off to the loo without answering Mary, feeling everyone's eyes on her as she did so. Walking straight into one of the stalls, she sat down on the toilet. As soon as she did, the selfishness of her reaction hit her like a ton of bricks, and Sybil proceeded to cry for a good five minutes. She wasn't upset about the room or the mix up. Certainly, she wasn't upset at Mary or her family. She was angry at _herself_. Sybil had been, for most of her young life, a carefree and optimistic person who always saw the best in people and made the best of every situation. And yet, here she was, about to go on a beach holiday in one of the most beautiful places in the world with all the people she loved and all she could do was nit pick and be skeptical and sarcastic. When had enjoying herself become such hard work? Mary was getting married and going out of her way to make her miserable baby sister feel comfortable. And Sybil, instead of shrugging a silly misunderstanding off with a laugh as she might have once, walked off in a petulant huff, a privileged poor little rich girl incapable of love and unworthy of it—the kind of person that she used to loathe.

And yet that's what she had become.

After calming down, Sybil took a bit of toilet paper to wipe her tears. When she stood and opened the door, she saw Mary outside the stall.

Sybil crumbled again, and this time, Mary caught her and soothed her until all the tears were gone.

"I'm so sorry," Sybil said into her sister's shoulder. "I'm horrible. This is your special time, and I'm making it about me. I don't know why I'm so sullen all the time. I hate this feeling of hating everything. I thought once I'd be rid of him it would go away."

"Darling," Mary said, pulling away so she could look Sybil in the eye. "You were in a relationship for two years. You can't just walk away and expect everything to be perfect and normal right away. You ended it, yes, but that doesn't mean _you_ don't need time to recover as well. I know it was nice for a while, but being with Tom clearly wasn't good for you. You put his feelings ahead of your own and that isn't the way love is supposed to work."

"Isn't it?"

"No. Making someone else happy is nice, but it's only love if doing so makes _you_ happy. You and Tom wanted different things. Primarily, he wanted you, and you let him have what he wanted even though it made you miserable. And instead of letting anyone know, you just swallowed the misery and now it's stuck inside you. You have to let go. Otherwise, there will never be room for someone else in your heart."

"I don't want someone else in my heart."

Mary smiled sadly. "Darling, believing _that_ is part of what's keeping the misery in there."

Sybil couldn't help but laugh. "I'm a sad case aren't I. I'm sorry I'm ruining your wedding holiday."

"You're _not_. Now, we're going to board that plane, drink oodles of champagne so we're absolutely pissed when we arrive and then we'll get leid."

"Mary!"

"Not laid, _leid_ —you know with the _flowers_!" Mary said with a laugh, pulling her sister out of the loo and back toward the gate. "Though honestly, you could do with the other thing too. Tom's not bad looking and he's single, though he is rather full of himself."

"What Tom?"

"Matthew's best man."

"Mary, I think Mr. Bellasis has ruined me for all men who go by that name."

"Call him Branson, then. I think you'll like him, actually. He's so left-wing he's practically a socialist, so he's right up your alley."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Can we not with the matchmaking please?"

Mary sighed. "Suit yourself."

**XXX**

When the family finally arrived on Kauai Island, they'd been up for almost 24 straight hours, but it was only 7:30 p.m. local time. Upon checking in, they were informed that Mr. Tom Branson had already arrived and checked in. The family all scattered toward their rooms and agreed to meet the following morning for breakfast. While Matthew took care of his and Mary's luggage, Mary offered to walk Sybil to her room to make a proper introduction to Tom, who still didn't know he'd be sharing a room with anyone.

When they arrived at the suite, Mary knocked on the door several times, but to no avail.

"Maybe he went out," Sybil said. "Let's just go in. I'm knackered."

"All right," Mary said, stepping aside so Sybil could use her keycard to open the door.

The two walked into a large, tastefully decorated open room. There was a small kitchen on the left and a sitting area with a large sofa and two chairs. At the far end, a set of sliding glass doors opened up onto a patio and, beyond that, a path that led down to the beach. They came all the way in, past the doorway on the right that presumably led to the bedroom and bath. They could hear the radio playing inside and the sound of the shower.

"You can go if you'd like," Sybil said. "I can explain what happened."

"Let me wait," Mary said with a smile. "He can be a bit of handful."

"You're making me rather nervous about this whole thing." Sybil stepped toward the open glass doors, which let in a cool evening breeze, Sybil added, "Is it all right with you if I don't go back to England?"

Mary laughed. She was about say something else, when the heard noise coming from the bedroom. "That must be him," Mary said.

Indeed, the door to the bedroom opened as Mary stepped toward it and a stark-naked, freshly showered Tom Branson stepped out.

"JESUS!" He screamed out and immediately ran back into the room. "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, MARY! Ain't you heard of knocking."

Maybe it was the delirium of travel and sleep deprivation, but Sybil looked at her red-faced sister and burst out laughing. "A bit more than a handful, I'd say."

"Tom, I'm so, so sorry," Mary, who was still covering her eyes, yelled toward the bedroom.

"So eager to see me, were you?" He said sardonically as he stepped out again, having put on a pair of athletic shorts.

Mary laughed, though clearly still embarrassed at having caught him _in flagrante_. "Yes, though not quite so much of you."

Tom laughed. "I won't tell Matthew." He turned slightly and noticed for the first time that Mary wasn't alone. "Oh . . . hello."

Sybil blinked several times, a bit taken by the blueness of his eyes and the way the skin around them crinkled as he smiled. There was also the broad expanse of his chest, which had a small trail of hair that started at the base of his neck all the way down to his, um, shorts. Feeling a bit at a loss for words, she looked over at Mary.

"This is my youngest sister, Sybil," she said.

Tom stepped forward and offered his had. "Delighted. Tom Branson."

Sybil shook his hand with a bashful smile. "Sorry about barging in."

"Not at all," he said with a wink. "If someone's going to see me as God made me, it might as well be a beautiful woman." Turning to Mary, he added, " _Two_ of them. So to what do I owe the visit."

"Actually, Tom, it's not so much a visit," Mary began, "at least, not for Sybil. Um . . . there was a bit of confusion when booking the rooms, and I'm afraid you'll have to share. It's just for two nights. We got another one for Sybil but she can't have it until Sunday."

Tom looked at Sybil again and scratched his head. "Um . . . sure. Plenty of room here."

"Good," Mary said relieved. "We'll have breakfast all together tomorrow at 9 a.m., so if you're both OK, we'll just see you then. It's the main dining area, in the atrium."

Both Tom ad Sybil nodded, so Mary shrugged then turned to go.

"Hey, wait!" Tom called out.

Mary turned. He came up to her by the door and grabbed her in a big bear hug.

"Congratulations," he said pulling away. "It's not just any girl who can marry my best mate."

Mary laughed. "Don't you know that you don't congratulate the girl!"

Tom rolled eyes playfully. "Best wishes, then."

Mary smiled and looking over his shoulder at Sybil, called out, "Good night, darling," before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

Tom turned and said, "Alone at last."

Sybil's brow furrowed skeptically. "Please don't flirt. I'm far too tired."

Tom laughed. He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer and lifted it toward Sybil.

She sighed. "Actually, I'd love one."

He grabbed another, opened them both and walked over to Sybil to hand it to her.

She took a long pull. "Golly, that's good."

"Wailua Wheat," Tom said looking at the label. "Picked it up this afternoon on the bellhop's recommendation. It's a bit fruity, but we're in Hawaii, so do as the Romans and all that."

"Are you going to put on a shirt?" Sybil asked.

"Why? We're at the beach, and you already saw the naughty bits," he said winking again.

Sybil brought the bottle up to her lips in an effort to hide her smile. After taking a drink, she looked around the room and said, "I suppose I should unpack."

"There'll be plenty of time for that," Tom said, grabbing her hand and pulling her outside. "Let's go revel in the fact we're in paradise."

"But—"

"But what? You'd rather be inside sorting through your clothes or outside having a beer and looking at the ocean?"

He was teasing her, but looking into his eyes and thinking about her conversation with Mary, hours ago in the LAX loo, the question suddenly seemed much bigger.

_Let go._

Sybil smiled and kicked off her sandals. "Let's go, then."

They walked to where the water met the shore and let their feet sink into the wet sand.

Realizing that he was still holding her hand, Tom let go. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I have a tendency to invade people's personal space. Bit of a bad habit."

"It's OK," Sybil said, looking out over the water. "Sometimes to get out of your own head someone has to pull you out."


	4. Chapter 4

 

Sybil and Tom sat on the sand and drank their beer while silently enjoying the sound of the waves lapping at their feet. There were a handful of people still swimming nearby despite the dimming light of the sun, and the din of the resort's nightly luau could be heard in the distance. In spite of that, though, there was a stillness in the air—peace—that slowly eased the tension that Sybil had been feeling throughout the course of the day and, indeed, for the last several weeks.

After taking her last gulp, Sybil looked at Tom. He'd finished his beer almost a soon as they'd sat down but seemed content to sit, his elbows resting on his knees, and stare out ahead into the water. Sybil was next to him but sitting a few inches back, so she could look at his face without his noticing. She watched him for a moment. There was nothing in his current expression that spoke to the brashness he'd displayed in greeting her and Mary and pulling her out here. He looked, not so much like he was watching the ocean, but more like he was looking for something in it.

"Um," she said quietly to get his attention.

He turned toward her a bit startled. "Oh, hey. Zoned out a bit there. I suppose the jetlag's catching up with me too."

He didn't look particularly tired to Sybil, but she didn't feel she knew him well enough to contradict him or to ask him what was on his mind, so she only smiled.

"Do you want another?" He asked, signaling to her empty bottle.

"No, thanks," she responded. "Actually, I better go inside, or I'm liable to pass out right here."

Tom stood and offered his hand to help her stand. She took it, but he pulled her up with such force that she bumped into his chest. The sand, shifty as it was under his feet, gave way and he fell backwards.

"Sorry," Sybil said trying to hold back her laughter.

Tom laughed and laid back on the sand. "Maybe I'll just sleep here."

"Doesn't look very comfortable," Sybil said.

"I've had worse." He looked up at her with a playful smirk and asked, "Aren't you going to help _me_ up?"

Sybil stepped over him and offered her hand, but took it back just as he was about to grab it. "Maybe you should just do it yourself. This has the makings of an endless cycle, and I'm not kidding when I say I might fall asleep where I stand."

Tom laughed and got himself up and shook the sand off his shorts. After he bent over again to grab his empty bottle, the two made their way back through the patio and into their shared suite.

"I think I might have a shower before I go to bed," Sybil said moving toward her suitcase.

"Well, there's one full bathroom there," Tom said, pointing to a door next to the countertop that separated the kitchen from the sitting area. "Just through the bedroom, there's another with a Jacuzzi the size of my first flat. Heart-shaped, too—the Jacuzzi, that is, not the flat."

Sybil snickered.

"I'm not kidding about the size. I thought about getting in earlier but I was afraid I might drown."

"This one is fine," Sybil said taking her bag and pulling it into the bathroom off the sitting area.

The hot water felt so good, she stayed in longer than she had intended. By the time she'd finished, lotioned herself up, changed into her nightshirt and brushed her teeth, more than a half-hour had gone by. When she stepped out into the sitting area again, she saw that Tom had used that time to move his things out of the bedroom and open and dress the sofa bed, on which he was now sitting, leaning up against the back with his feet stretched out in front of him on top of the covers. He had the TV on, but the volume was barely audible and his attention was on the laptop sitting on his lap.

He'd also dressed for bed. The pants were a blue plaid and the shirt was a short-sleeved, cream colored henley that stretched around his chest and arms in a way that—Sybil was forced to admit to herself—made him actually look better than he had undressed. Not that Sybil had any complaints to file about _that_.

"Oh . . . um, _I_ was going to sleep out here," she said.

"Did you have your heart set on it?" He asked teasingly.

"You just . . . um, you needn't have gone out of your way."

"It's all right," he said with a wave of his hand. "I plan on going for a run in the early morning, so this way I won't wake you up."

"Are you sure? I don't mind."

"My stuff's all out here now. It'll be more of a hassle to move it back."

"Fine," Sybil said, pulling her suitcase into the bedroom. She set it on the suitcase stand and then peaked her head out again. "You don't need to be all chivalrous with me, you know. We're only sharing a room."

"Do you always put up a fight when someone does something nice for you?"

"No," Sybil answered defensively.

"OK." He smiled. "Go sleep, then," he said, then turned back to him computer.

Sybil thought of saying something back but held her tongue and continued to watch him for a moment.

"If you really want to, we can share this one," he said, not looking up from his computer. "Plenty of room."

Sybil crossed her arms and leaned on the door jamb. "If I were a man, we would have flipped a coin or something. That's all I'm saying."

"Your gender has nothing to do with the fact I'll be up at 7 a.m.," he said, looking back up to her, "but if you want to be insulted by my paying you a courtesy, then I'll have to be insulted by the assumption that I am not as nice to men as I am to women."

Sybil narrowed her eyes at him, and he looked back at his computer smiling.

"I didn't say that," she said finally, "but if I catch you pushing in my chair for me at breakfast tomorrow, I'll be expecting you to do the same for Matthew."

"I always do," he deadpanned. "We put the romance in bromance, him and me. I open all his doors as well."

Sybil laughed. "I suppose I walked into that one. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Ten minutes later, Tom hadn't moved from his spot when Sybil came back into the room and without a word, sat cross-legged next to him on the sofa bed and opened her book on her lap.

"How are you still awake? I think it's something like eight or nine in the morning in London," Tom said, watching her with a curious smile. "Didn't you say outside you were about pass out?"

Sybil laid back against the pillows with a sigh and stretched her legs out. "It seems my body clock has stopped working altogether. I think I am past the point of sleep. Outside, I could barely keep my eyes open as I said, but as soon as I set my head on the pillow I was wide-awake."

"I think you just missed me."

Sybil looked at Tom from the side of her eyes and smirked. Still leaning back, she picked up her book again and opened it. Unconscious of what she was doing she slid her feet up, bending her knees in the process, which caused her nightshirt to slide down to her upper-thighs. Realizing what she'd done, she straightened her legs again and pulled her night shirt back down to mid-thigh. If she could have looked in Tom's mind just then, she'd have known that it didn't really make much of a difference.

In an effort not to seem as if he was ogling her, he stared determinedly at his screen and cleared his throat. "I _have_ been told that I have magnetic personality," he said.

"I'm sure you have." Sybil bit her lip and looked up at him. "How are _you_ not feeling the jetlag?"

"I flew from Dublin to New York and spent a few days with a friend there. Then flew to LA, spent a night there and got here this morning. So I didn't do the trip all in one go."

"Are you from Dublin originally?"

"Born in Galway, grew up in Dublin. I've lived in England for more than ten years now, though, if you count university."

"Matthew mentioned you were at Cambridge together."

Tom nodded. "You? I assume you grew up in Yorkshire like Mary."

"Yeah. I did nursing school in Manchester and came back to live in York the last two years, but I moved down to London a few weeks ago."

"Oh, yeah? Whereabouts?"

He turned his head toward her and did a double take upon seeing her book, which she'd laid down on her lap. His expression turned from one of surprise into a delighted grin.

"What?" She asked picking it up and hugging it to herself. "Can't a girl enjoy a little romance every once in a while?"

"Certainly, I just didn't have you pegged as the romance novel type."

"You've guessed that from knowing me less than two hours?"

"You were very specific in warning me against acting in a chivalrous manner. Those books don't exactly carry Gloria Steinem's seal of approval."

"What do you know of feminism?"

"I consider myself a feminist." He was still smiling, but Sybil could sense a measure of sincerity in his tone. Still, she couldn't help but express at least a small measure of skepticism.

"I have no doubt you consider yourself a devoted friend to all women, but that's not the same thing as wanting equal rights."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You don't take me very seriously, do you? You haven't known me that long either."

"Maybe it's because I've seen you naked."

Tom laughed. "You could even things out in that regard."

"Are you trying to seduce me? Because you're going to have to try harder than that to get me out of my knickers."

"It saddens me that you think this is the behavior of someone trying to seduce you. I'm afraid it doesn't speak well for the men in your past."

"Are you so confident that you think if you _were_ trying to seduce me, I'd be naked by now?"

Tom leaned down slightly and whispered. "You seem to keep wondering whether or not I am trying to seduce you. What I'm saying is, if I were, you would _know_ without having to ask."

Tom straightened back up and went back to his computer. Sybil, meanwhile, shifted on the mattress and hoped against hope that the blush on her cheeks didn't look as obvious as it felt.

Several minutes passed and Tom looked over at her again. "So . . . do you like it?"

"What?"

He pointed to the book.

Sybil shrugged. "It's not bad actually. It's about these two childhood sweethearts on a farm in Ireland in the 1890s. The guy asks the girl to marry him when he's twenty and she's eighteen, but she's ambitious and says no and goes to England where she marries this old, wealthy banker for his money. When he dies and leaves her his country house and estate, all these men come after her for her inherited fortune, but she seduces them all until they fall in love with her, at which point she breaks each of their hearts. Meanwhile, ten years later, her old sweetheart has lost everything and gets into a scrape and kills a British officer in self-defense. He has to flee so he assumes a new identity and decides to go find her after all this time. He arrives at her estate and has taken a job there thinking that she doesn't know she's hired him, but she does know. That's where I am."

"That's quite a bit of plot for that kind of book."

"It's a page-turner, no doubt. I rather like that, though. It's a bit like Tom Hardy, except not as depressing since the woman has lots of good sex."

"So it's historically accurate, then," he said cheekily.

Sybil smirked. "I don't think shagging in any era compares to how good this woman has it."

Before Sybil could react, Tom grabbed the book out of her hands.

"Hey!" She exclaimed, sitting up and reaching over him.

Using his left hand to hold her off, Tom opened the book with his right and began to read aloud.

_He was harder than he could have imagined, and she had yet to touch herself. His thoughts were jolted as she closed her eyes and moaned. She began to push the fabric of her neckline down until one of her round, full breasts was free to be devoured first by his eyes, then his mouth._

"That doesn't sound like any Hardy that I read," Tom said laughing. "Maybe if it had, I'd done better in school."

Tom having stopped holding her off, Sybil was finally able to reach across him and take the book back.

"It's just fantasy. Men aren't usually willing to give a women this much pleasure. That's the reason women write these books."

"How do you know T.B. Nightingale is a woman?"

"No man who understands foreplay or oral sex like it's written here."

"If you say so, but maybe you just haven't met the right one yet."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "No doubt, you consider yourself an expert."

"Wouldn't you like to find out," he said with a smirk.

He was, of course, teasing her. Sybil could see that easily. But for a moment, as he focused again on his computer, she contemplated the possibility. Sybil had not had what she would consider an adventurous sex life. Between her and Tom Bellasis, things had been good and fun at first, but novelty soon became routine, and the last few months, she'd started putting such little effort into faking her orgasms, she wondered if he might catch on. Subconsciously, of course, it had been a kind of test, and he had failed it.

Watching Tom _Branson_ , she thought about how different it would be to be with someone she'd only just met—not something she'd ever done.

_Was that what brought me out here in the first place?_

Trying to get the thought out of her head, she shifted to her side. He looked over at her and seemed surprised to find her still looking at him. A small smiled formed on his face that was, to Sybil's surprise, devoid of the cockiness that seeped through his every other word. Feeling now somewhat exposed, Sybil sought to deflect his attention by acting as if she'd been looking for the television remote.

"Do you mind if I change the channel?" she asked.

Tom reached over to the table on his side of the sofa, but instead of giving her the remote, he twirled it around in his hand. "Shall we flip for it?"

Rolling her eyes, Sybil grabbed it out of his hand. "You're obviously not watching."

After settling back into her spot against the pillows, she began to mindlessly flip through the stations. "What are you doing anyway?" she asked.

"Just writing some work emails."

"What do you do?"

"I write romance novels."

Without looking away from the television, Sybil lifted her right leg and kicked him. "Seriously," she said.

"I'm a writer."

"What do you write?"

"Romance novels."

"Fine, don't tell me."

Tom kept his eyes on her as he laughed. "I'm a freelance journalist."

"Where should I look for your byline?"

"The Guardian, when they're feeling generous, which is not often. I've written for a few news magazines here and there. I'm afraid it's feast or famine in my field."

"And what do you usually like to cover?"

"I'll cover anything for a paycheck, but I specialize in politics and economic policy, mostly."

Sybil laughed. "Mary called you a socialist."

Tom laughed too. "Doesn't surprise. We've had some amusing conversations on the topic of politics, so I know that's a dirty word coming from her."

"Then, you'll be amused to know that she said it in an effort to convince me I'd like you."

Tom arched his eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"I'm the lone Labour voter in the Crawley clan."

"That must be quite a laugh."

"Not really. Mama has a strict rule regarding what dad and I may talk about at the dinner table. I may or may not have broken a 'priceless' vase in the heat of an argument."

Tom laughed. "Then you'd be at home in the Branson family."

"As to politics or dish-breaking?"

Tom smiled. "Both."

Sybil smiled back. She turned the TV off, then handed him the remote and turned on her side again, hugging her pillow. "Tell me about your next article."

"It'll put you to sleep."

"That's the plan," she said closing her eyes.

"Do you find me very boring?"

"Boring is underrated," she said, eyes still closed, almost in a whisper. "Boring is sexy."

Tom closed up his laptop and set it on the table beside the sofa, along with the remote. He reached up to the lamp and turned it off, so the only light coming into the room was from the patio light just outside the glass door. It gave her skin a golden glow, making it look even more enticing. He laid down on his side facing her and looked her face over. Her breathing had evened out and her mouth had opened ever so slightly.

"Sybil," he whispered.

He listened for a few minutes as her breaths got deeper.

"Sybil," he said, a bit more loudly this time. He shook her shoulder gently, but it was no use. She was finally deep asleep.

He reached down to the comforter at the foot of the sofa bed and pulled it over them both. Then he settled on his back to stare at the ceiling.

The romance novels were a bit a lark, but they paid the bills and allowed him to live rather comfortably. The truth was he was a bit embarrassed about the whole thing and didn't like telling people about them. "T.B. Nightingale" was a name only he, his agent and his sister Maura, who had coined it for him, recognized as his. He knew they sold well, but he'd never actually met anyone who had read one until tonight.

Hearing her talk about the one that had always been his favorite, Tom couldn't help but feel a little bit proud.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Sybil had always enjoyed sharing a bed with someone, even before doing so carried any sort of romantic notions. As a small child of four, she would sneak into her eight-year-old sister Edith's room in the middle of the night and cuddle up to her back. Edith, sensing Sybil's presence and wanting a bit of space would shuffle over a bit, but Sybil, even without waking up, would manage to find her again. Edith would move over again, and again, Sybil would follow. This would continue until Edith was on the very edge of her own queen size bed and was forced to get out and hop back in on Sybil's other side. Then, Sybil would find her, cuddle her and the dance would begin all over again. It led to lost sleep for Edith, but she didn't mind because Edith liked the feeling of being needed.

(Sybil had done it to Mary too, but after the first few nights of it, Mary was wise enough to lock her door.)

With Tom Bellasis, spooning was the one form of physical contact they both loved equally, so naturally it was the first thing to begin to break down the more apparent it became to Sybil that things had to end. Still, it was the only part of being in a relationship that she missed after it was all over.

So it should have been no surprise to Sybil, upon waking early on her first morning in Hawaii, that she was snuggled up to Tom Branson, who'd had the sense to fall asleep facing away from her (if not the sense to take the king size bed in the other room after she'd fallen asleep in his). He was warm and soft, and when Sybil moved her cheek away she immediately missed the contact. She remained close to him for a moment, and taking a deep breath, she recognized the smell of the same lavender scented fabric softener that she used. She smiled as she wondered whether a mother or sister bought it for him, or if he bought it thinking of one of them. Sybil was embarrassed, of course, at having woken up like this and moved over slightly so she could sit up. She was still groggy from the jetlag, so doing so actually made her a bit dizzy and she laid down and closed her eyes again.

"Top o' the mornin'!"

She opened her eyes again and turned to see that Tom had turned on his pillow and was facing her, bright-eyed and grinning.

"Oh, god, you're a morning person," she said, rubbing her eyes, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

"I guess you'll not be coming for a run with me, then?"

"Not unless you plan to pull me on a rickshaw."

Tom laughed as he sat up and shifted away from her, bringing his feet over to the side of the bed to sit up. "You're still half-asleep, but your sense of humor still works. You're my kind of girl, Sybil Crawley."

Sybil was grateful he wasn't looking at her as she felt herself blush at his words and couldn't help but feel a tiny bit flattered. Instead of responding with a quick quip, she said quietly, "Sorry about invading last night. I think I was a bit delirious with sleep deprivation."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "It's all right. Though if you want to share a bed again tonight I say we go for the king in there," he said nodding his head toward the door that led to the bedroom. "It'll give us a more room to spread out."

"I guess I should apologize for that, too," she said, sitting up herself. "I've always been a snuggler."

Tom stood and turned toward her. With a smile he said, "That wasn't a complaint, just an observation."

He scratched his head and turned to look out the window toward the patio and the beach beyond. "I honestly can't remember the last time I slept in the same bed with a girl without having a shag first."

Sybil dragged her legs over to the side of the bed with a sigh. "You obviously haven't been in a dead-end relationship. At the end all you ever do is pretend you're too tired to do it or already asleep until you actually fall asleep on your own corner of the bed, telling yourself that there's comfort in simply sharing a bed with someone."

"You don't think there's comfort in it?" He asked.

Sybil looked up to see that he'd come around to the middle of the room and was looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite place. "I do, just not when you'd rather be somewhere else."

She looked down again feeling embarrassed. "Sorry for the over-sharing. I haven't had my coffee yet so my defenses are down."

"Well, I don't think there's any such thing as over-sharing," he said with that same enigmatic expression, then bent down to open his suitcase.

Sybil watched him as pulled out running clothes. He was in good shape—she'd seen as much as one needed to see to be sure of that the night before—but he wasn't overly muscular, which she liked. The pajama pants certainly did his bum justice. He stood, not having noticed her checking him out, and with another smile in her direction stepped into the bathroom to change.

Sybil shook her head trying to push off the thoughts creeping around her brain since their conversation last night. In the LAX loo, she'd dismissed Mary's suggestion that she needed a shag, but now that a candidate had presented himself, her subconscious apparently wasn't entirely against the idea, having compelled her to seek him out. She rubbed her face with her hands again to keep from laughing at herself and stood up to go to the bedroom. As she did so, her book fell onto the floor from where it had been tangled in the comforter.

Sybil bent down to pick it up and flipped through the pages with a sigh. _Oh, Meara, why can't I have your powers of seduction._

"So when was your breakup?"

Sybil looked up to see Tom wearing the same athletic shorts he'd been wearing last night, trainers and a faded Arsenal T-shirt that hugged him in all the right places.

_Have plain shirts ever looked this good on another human?_ "Um, what?"

"You mentioned a dead-end relationship in a tone that suggested it ended fairly recently," he said. He shrugged, then added, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I guess I was just curious."

"Oh, um . . . yeah. It was a couple of months ago. I'd had one foot out the door for some time before that, but officially . . . two months."

"And how long were you together?"

"Two years," Sybil said sitting back down on the sofa bed, one leg tucked under her.

"So you've made it through the worst, then," Tom said walking over and sitting next to her, but still keeping a respectable distance.

"How do you know that?"

"According to my sister, the mourning period for every relationship can be calculated by adding one month for every year the relationship lasted, so . . . two years, two months. You're in the clear."

Sybil laughed. "And where did she garner such wisdom?"

"Probably Cosmo or some such magazine—you know, the type with articles on how to give better blow jobs and all that. She loves them. She's not an overly girly girl, or anything. She says she only reads them as sociological exercise."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't have a problem with articles about tips on oral sex if men's magazines paid _us_ the same courtesy."

Tom grinned. "Maybe you should just ask your next boyfriend to read The Jewel of York."

Sybil immediately grabbed the book and started smacking him with it, as he laughed and moved away. "Don't you have exercising to do?" She said pointedly. "It's already 7:30!"

Still smiling at her, Tom walked over to the glass door and asked, "You sure you don't want to come?"

Sybil flopped back on the sofa bed. "Walking the length of the Los Angeles airport yesterday to make our transfer was enough exercise to last me the rest of the week."

"Do you want to walk over to the continental breakfast for a coffee?"

Sybil sat up again and looked at Tom, who was half in, half out of the room, leaning against the open glass door. "I think I'm going to order room service, actually."

"Remember we have that breakfast with your family at 9."

"Ugh, bloody hell," Sybil said burying her face in her hands. "Sod it, I'll eat twice. I'm on holiday."

"You are nothing like your sister."

Sybil narrowed her eyes at him. "What does that mean?"

"Just what I said," Tom said looking down. After a moment, he looked up again. "All right, I'm going. Shall I leave this open?"

Sybil nodded. "I like hearing the ocean."

They looked at one another for a long moment, until he looked away again, clearing his throat. "I'm off, then."

"Wait—do you want anything for when you get back?"

"Just order two of whatever you're having," he answered with a smile.

Sybil stood up and walked over to the patio, watching him go.

It was true. She was totally unlike Mary. And he was totally unlike anyone she'd met.

**XXX**

Once he'd made it to the firmer sand near the water, Tom got into a steady jog, his eyes looking over the ocean to his left. A bit of a cold shower was in order, but this water was likely not cold enough, not after barely sleeping for the feel of her next to him half the night. He thought back to a night a few years back when Matthew, jokingly, but not so, suggested setting him up with Mary's youngest sister.

_"Matthew, your girl is lovely, but you're you and I'm me. Do you not realize what a mess it would be for me and someone who was just like Mary?"_


	6. Chapter 6

Tom was gone about 45 minutes. After his run, he'd taken a dip in the ocean, so as he approached the patio, where Sybil was eating her breakfast, he was dripping wet and carrying his sweaty shirt and shoes in his hand. In his absence, Sybil had showered and changed into light blue linen shorts, a flowery cotton tank top and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Tom grinned as he saw her leaning back in her chair, with feet up on the patio table and her bowl of food on her lap.

"This is the greatest thing I have ever eaten," she said without preamble once he was within earshot. "It's a good thing you're back because I was just about to dig into yours."

Tom dropped his shirt and shoes on the edge of the patio, shook the excess water off his hair and sat down in the chair across from Sybil, lifting the cover off of his plate.

"What is it?" he asked, taking a piece of pineapple into his mouth.

"It's the Poipu breakfast special," Sybil said, enunciating the Hawaiian word. She lifted the card on the breakfast tray on the table and read from it aloud, "Andouille sausages cooked with fresh Hawaiian pineapple and served over a bed of scrambled eggs and white rice."

Tom stuck a fork into his bowl, taking a little bit of everything and took a bite. "Hmmm. What do you know, that _is_ quite good."

Sybil smirked. "Did you not believe me?"

Tom smiled at her and continued eating.

"You better hurry," she said, "breakfast with the Crawley clan in 45 minutes. I hope you know what you're in for."

Tom swallowed another bite. "I think you're just trying to get me to go inside so you can finish my breakfast for me."

Sybil laughed. "You have figured me out, Tom Branson. I sometimes wish I could be more mysterious, but alas. File it away for future reference—the way to win me over is not to walk around half naked as you seem to like to do, but to bring me delicious food."

"What makes you think I'm doing this for your benefit?" He asked gesturing with his fork toward his bare torso. "It is quite hot or haven't you been able to tell?"

Sybil smiled and without saying anything else turned to look out to the ocean. Tom watched her as she took a deep breath and sat contentedly.

"So how was your run?"

Having lost himself a bit and looking at her, the question took Tom by surprise. "What?"

Sybil turned her eyes back toward him. "Your run? Did you enjoy it?"

"Oh . . . yeah. It's been a while since I've run on sand, so my calves will be paying for it tomorrow."

"Sometimes I wish I had the discipline for exercise," Sybil said looking back out to the water. "Then I remember how uncoordinated I am, and I figure it's just as well."

Tom smiled as he took his last bite, then stood up and picked up his dirty shoes and shirt. "I'm going to go clean up."

As he walked toward the glass door, Sybil put her now empty breakfast bowl on the table. As she did so, Tom noticed that sitting underneath the bowl in her lap had been her book.

He smiled. "You really can't put that book down, can you?"

"You have a family breakfast to get your ready for," she chided him playfully.

"Maybe you should write a letter to this Nightingale person. Tell him that his book changed your life."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "If I do write to _her_. I will tell her that she could to with a better _nom de plume_."

Tom laughed all the way to the bathroom.

**XXX**

Once Tom was ready, he and Sybil headed out. They left through the patio to the path that connected all of the resort's buildings on the beach-side. The path led back up to the atrium and lobby through a large pool and recreational area. Once they found the restaurant, which was adjacent to the pool area, which was, in turn, visible through large open windows, Tom and Sybil found the family's table already prepared for breakfast, but with no one yet there.

Sybil looked at her mobile to see the time. "Oh, I guess we're ten minutes early."

"Shall we sit?"

Sybil shrugged and pulled out a chair in front of one of the three pitchers of juice that had already been served.

Tom leaned over the chair next to Sybil. "May I? Or do you need some space?"

Sybil laughed. "You won't have noticed since you didn't travel with the family, but you and I are the only two single people in the wedding party. I'm afraid for all pre-planned activities, it's going to be you and me. Might as well embrace it."

"And what makes you think I'm single?" Tom asked, as Sybil poured herself some juice.

"Oh," she stopped short, setting the juice pitcher down again. "I guess I just thought—wait, you've been flirting with me since we met!"

Tom laughed. "I _am_ single. I was just—"

"Just what? Testing me?!"

Tom leaned into her shoulder and rested his forehead against it. " _Messing_ with you."

Sybil pushed him off, but she couldn't help but laugh. "You do have personal space issues."

Tom took the pitcher from Sybil and poured himself a glass. "Are you in a position to judge considering you came into my bed last night?"

"I didn't _come_ into your bed!"

Tom raised his eyebrows at her.

"OK, maybe I did. I told you I was delirious and sleep-deprived."

He raised his juice glass in her direction and smiled a smile that left Sybil feeling a little bit lightheaded. "If it's going to be you and me, might as well embrace it," he said.

Sybil lost herself in the pools of his eyes for a moment, but then collected herself and clinked her glass with his. "Might as well embrace it," she repeated.

She took a drink first and almost spit it out upon tasting not just pineapple juice, but also champagne.

"Wait!" She said holding his glass to keep him from drinking it. "It's actually not juice. It's a mimosa."

Tom looked at the "juice" then at his place setting, and indeed, there was the champagne glass, plain as day. He looked back at Sybil and shrugged. "Sod it. We're on holiday."

Sybil laughed, and they clinked glasses again and drank.

They had almost emptied the pitcher by the time the rest of the family started trickling in. Tom only knew Mary and Matthew, who were the last to arrive, so Sybil was the one who made the introductions. That, combined with how tipsy they were already starting to feel from their breakfast cocktail and the obvious chemistry that had developed between them in the hours they had known each other could have fooled a stranger into thinking that they were a couple. As the group chatted over drinks and, eventually, food, Gwen kept jabbing Edith to point out how bright-eyed and smiley Sybil was.

"She's drunk," Edith whispered, after the fifth or sixth elbow to the ribs.

Gwen shook her head. "This is not drunk. This is smitten."

Edith looked at Gwen from the side of her eyes.

"OK, smitten and tipsy, but the point here is she fancies him."

Edith sighed and looked across the length of the table at her youngest sister, and indeed Sybil seemed to be much more animated and happy than she had been when they were traveling yesterday—or indeed had been for several weeks. And she seemed to be giving Tom most of her attention.

"Maybe it's being on the islands," Edith said. "I'm in a good mood too, but you don't seem too concerned with that."

Gwen leaned over and pecked Edith on the lips. "I'm always concerned with you, luv. But honestly, I'm going to bet they end up shagging."

Edith burst out laughing in such a way that got the attention of everyone at the table. "Uh, sorry."

Red faced, she turned back to her wife with her eyes wide.

Gwen couldn't help but laugh. "So what about it? Loser does the laundry for a month." She asked quietly.

"You're on—but you're _not_ allowed to interfere."

"E, we're in Hawaii, at a wedding, they're both single and sharing a honeymoon suite. _I_ don't need to interfere. God is."

**XXX**

It was almost eleven when, everyone having finished eating, Matthew stood up at the end of the table and tapped his glass with his fork. Once he had everyone's attention, he took Mary's hand, who was seated next to him, cleared his throat and spoke up, "First of all, thank you from the bottom of our hearts for so generously clearing your schedules on such short notice to be here for Mary and me. I know this seems a bit unorthodox, but we simply couldn't think of a better way to start our life together than by bringing everyone we love together to this beautiful place, and doing so as soon as possible."

Everyone clapped as Mary sat beaming looking at Matthew.

"Anyway," he continued, "we do still plan to do the downhill bike tour of the canyon today for those who are interested. The touring company will be picking us up in a half an hour, and we should be back by five. We've also reserved a spot for everyone at the resort's nightly luau tonight. Tomorrow, we'll gather on the gazebo on the north end of the resort overlooking the beach for the ceremony, which shall start at 11:30 a.m. sharp."

"Sounds wonderful," Cora said, lifting her glass. "To the bride and groom."

Everyone else followed suit and said, "Hear! Hear!"

After Matthew's announcement, the party began to disperse to their various rooms to get ready for the bicycle tour. Everyone would be going except Richard, who had a bad knee, and Isobel, who didn't want to leave him behind alone.

After Tom and Sybil made it back to their room, Tom plopped down on the sofa. "I'm wondering whether I should go. That champagne made me a bit loopy."

Sybil laughed as she dropped some sunscreen into a small rucksack. "Have some coffee, then."

"You can go without me, you know," he said.

"What happened to 'embracing the you and me'?"

"Pineapple and champagne happened."

Sybil walked over to where he was sitting on the couch and stood in front of him arms akimbo. "Get up off this sofa now and come along or I'll be forced to lift you up and carry you myself."

Tom grinned up at her. "I'd like to see you try, actually."

"I'm sure you would," she said, rolling her eyes. She looked at him for a long moment, then went for a different tactic, and started bouncing on her feet like an impatient child. "Come on, don't leave me alone with all the happy couples."

He laughed and lifted his hand for her to help him up. When she did, he was wobbly on his feet and instinctively grabbed her for balance. They ended up nose to nose and neither moved for several seconds. Sybil felt her cheeks burn and, feeling embarrassed at how close he was, stepped away first.

"Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," he said quietly, rubbing his hands up and down his sides as if trying to get the feeling of her skin off his hands.

Sybil cleared her throat. "So, um, are you coming?"

"Yeah," he said with a soft smile. "Riding a bicycle down a steep canyon while drunk with you? Wouldn't miss it."

**XXX**

Mary, Matthew, Edith, Gwen, Robert, Cora, Sybil and Tom all met in the lobby and the designated time, piled into the tour company's van and headed up Waimea Canyon. The driver talked Mary, Matthew, Robert and Cora's ears off on the way up about the history and geology of Kauai Island, while the rest, who were sitting in the very back of the van plotted a joint hen and stag night for Mary and Matthew after the luau dinner.

"I still say we go find a pub in Lihue," Edith said.

"Luv, do you really want to get pissed off site then have to find our way back?"

"The poolside bar is open late," Sybil said. "If the whole point is to get them good and drunk, I'm with Gwen. I say we stay close to home."

"What do you think, Tom?" Edith asked.

Tom scratched his head. "Well, I wouldn't mind mingling with the locals—"

"Thank you!" Edith exclaimed, feeling validated.

"But?" Sybil prodded.

Tom looked back and forth between the sisters, not really eager to get in the middle. "But I also see the point of just kicking back at the hotel."

"So you've chosen to be Switzerland," Gwen said rolling her eyes.

"I've chosen to stay out of any family squabbles," Tom said, "or haven't you noticed I'm a bit out numbered here."

"Why?" Gwen asked, with a teasing smile. "Because we're all girls here?"

"No," Tom replied. "I'm perfectly comfortable in the company of women. I just happen to be the only person not related to anyone by blood or marriage."

"Well, technically, Dr. Clarkson and Isobel aren't married," Edith put in. "But I see your point."

"Why don't we just wait until tonight and see what they want to do?" Sybil said nodding toward the front of the van and Mary and Matthew.

Gwen laughed. "It's their hen and stag night. I think we can all agree they get _no_ say in what happens."

Tom laughed. "Why don't we just hang out in our suite—we could hire his and hers strippers."

That earned a laughed from Edith and Gwen and a punch in the shoulder from Sybil.

"Ow!" He said rubbing the spot. "I was obviously joking."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Nothing you do is obvious."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Gwen said, earning her own punch in the shoulder from Edith.

Sybil looked back and forth between the two of them. "What?"

"Nothing!" Edith said smiling.

"Look, I was joking about the strippers, but not about the suite. There's a pit outside if we want to build a fire. I'm sure there's somewhere we can buy loads of alcohol. We can play drinking games or go for a late night swim."

"That actually sounds quite nice," Sybil said, smiling at Tom.

"I agree," Gwen said, turning toward Edith expectantly.

"Oh, fine," she said, finally relenting.

**XXX**

When the van finally reached the top of the canyon, the whole group stumbled out of the van and their tour guide climbed up to the top to unload the cruisers. Once the bikes were down and all the seats had been adjusted for the individual riders, he checked the air on all the tires and outfitted everyone with helmets.

"All right, lords and ladies, enjoy the ride!" He said bowing with a flourish.

The group pushed off and started on their downhill journey. The views were gorgeous, but Tom wasn't paying too much attention. He was still feeling the effects of the alcohol he'd had with breakfast, but the real reason he had been a bit skittish about the whole excursion was that he wasn't a big fan of heights. The mixture of the two, now that he was in motion, was giving him a bit of vertigo, which caused him to wipe out against a tree and skin his left knee and elbow only ten minutes into the ride.

As soon as he did, everyone stopped to make sure he was OK, which of course only worsened his feeling of embarrassment. Sybil was the first off her bike and immediately jumped into nurse mode, going through a litany of questions to make sure he hadn't suffered a concussion.

"Sybil, I'm fine," he insisted, sitting up. "I didn't hit my head or break anything." He looked as the rest of the group was waiting a few yards away and added more quietly, "Though I'll admit my ego's taking a bit of a bruising."

Sybil chuckled. "Please. Given its size, I doubt this even made a dent."

"I think I'm just going to flag the van down when it comes by and ask for a ride back," he said moving to stand up.

Sybil put his arm on her shoulder and helped him up. "I'll come with you."

"Don't be silly."

"It's sort of my fault this happened," she said with a shrug. "I'm the one who got you to come, anyway."

He laughed. "I suppose that's true, but honestly, you don't have to."

"No, I insist. We saw the view on the drive up, so I won't be missing anything. I'd rather go sit on our patio anyway. Plus, I can read, and you know how I feel about my book."

Tom dropped his chin into his chest and laughed. "Well, I guess there's no talking you out of that."

Sybil smiled, and as Tom went over to pick up his bike, she walked over to her parents, her sisters and their respective partners to let them know.

"But why do you need to go with him?" Edith asked. "It's only a scratch."

"Now, Edith," Gwen said, "Sybil's just being nice, isn't she?"

Sybil gave Gwen a funny look. "I just feel bad, since he hadn't wanted to come and I insisted. Anyway, we'll get the suite ready for tonight."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Gwen said, smiling as Edith rolled her eyes.

"Are you sure, darling?" Cora asked.

"Yes, now get going and don't worry about us, really," Sybil said, already turning back toward where Tom had sat down on the side of the road and waved when they all turned to look at him.

As they mounted their bikes again, Edith said to Gwen. "I said no interfering!"

"I'm not the one who knocked him off the bike. I told you already. It's divine intervention."

A few feet ahead of them, Matthew looked over to Mary next to them. "Do you think something might . . ."

"Might what?" Mary asked.

"Might happen between Tom and Sybil?"

Mary laughed. "I don't know. But they are only roommates for one more night."


	7. Chapter 7

 

It took about ten minutes, but the van that had taken them up the canyon finally came back around, and Sybil, on seeing it, immediately jumped up from where she and Tom had been sitting on the curb waiting and flagged it down.

After pulling over, the driver, a young man named Kyle who was about college age with long messy blond hair that went down to several inches past his shoulders, hopped out of the van and came over to where Sybil was helping Tom get back on his feet.

"Wipeout?"

"Afraid so," Tom said. "I make a very poor Lance Armstrong, apparently."

Kyle grimaced at the blood running down Tom's leg. "Oh, man, that's _gnarly_ ," he said.

"It's just a scrape," Tom said. "All the blood makes it look worse than it is."

"Do you mind if I get a picture?" Kyle asked, tentatively.

"Excuse me?" Sybil asked, indignant.

"We've got this, like, 'wall of fame' back at the office, with pictures of people who bit it on the way down the canyon."

"And you take great amusement from people's injuries, do you?" Sybil pressed, crossing her arms in anger.

"Sybil, it's all right," Tom said, amused at how annoyed she was getting on his behalf.

"Hey," Kyle said, lifting his hands up, "no big deal. He can say no."

"It's fine, go ahead," Tom said. Kyle pulled out his phone, and Tom laughed noticing Sybil rolling her eyes at them as she stepped away to get out of the shot.

Once Kyle was done, Sybil asked, "Do you have a First Aid kit? Or is the only thing you carry with you your camera for your wall of pain?"

Kyle smirked and walked around to the back of the van. He came back shortly after with a small plastic box. "Have at it, Nurse Rached."

Sybil snatched the box from his hands. "And water?"

Kyle again went over to the back of the van and brought them two large water bottles, handing one to each. "You got a feisty one there, dude," he said to Tom.

Tom laughed. "Actually, she's not—"

"Never mind!" Sybil said, cutting Tom off, and directing him to sit down on the pavement again and then pointing Kyle to the bikes.

While Kyle loaded the cruisers back on top of the van, Sybil worked on Tom's wounds. She began by opening her bottle and pouring the water over Tom's bloody leg first, then his arm. She opened the First Aid kit and took out some gauze to wipe off the excess blood and pat dry both scrapes. She found some antibiotic ointment and squeezed some onto the scratch on his arm, covering it with a large bandage. Then, she did the same on the leg. None of the bandages were big enough for the scratch on his leg, so she covered the ointment with gauze and took out an elastic Ace bandage and carefully wrapped it around the top of his thigh and knee. After she finished, she sat back on her heels.

"All better!" She said, tapping leg playfully.

Tom had been watching her silently with a small smile on his face. Indeed, he had not taken his eyes off her since she had instructed him to sit and ignored Kyle's suggestion that she was his girlfriend. He liked the feel of her hands on him. There was nothing sexual about what she'd done and he could see that she was good at her job, but he couldn't help but be endeared by how conscientiously she took care of him.

As Sybil met his eyes, her smile faltered a bit, and she looked down somewhat embarrassed.

"Thank you," he said.

They continued to look at each other silently for another minute, and in that time both seemed to silently acknowledge that something had changed. Tom's injury was minimal, to be sure, but the care with which she had seen to it, the _intimacy_ of it, rattled them both now that they were on the other side of it.

It was Kyle clearing his throat and pointing to the open van door, signaling to them that he was ready to go, that finally pulled them out of the moment. They stood up, Tom with Sybil's help. As she moved to walk toward the van, he squeezed her hand one more time. She turned toward him, and again he said, "Thanks."

Sybil shrugged and said, "It's what I do."

"No, I mean . . . for staying with me. You didn't have to."

Sybil laughed lightly. "I already told you. My real reason is I want to finish my book."

Tom dropped his chin into his chest and laughed. The two climbed into the van, and within minutes they were on their way.

After a while, Tom asked, "Do you suppose T.B. Nightingale chose that name because he fancies nurses?"

"You seem positively obsessed with the identity of this author."

"Aren't you the least bit curious as to who it could be?" Tom asked. "Maybe it's someone you know."

Sybil shuddered. "I hope not."

Tom twisted around to face her directly. "And why not?"

"I don't know. It'd be rather embarrassing to find out after the fact. On top of which, I don't want to picture anyone I know sitting down at their desk and writing such intricate sexual positioning."

Tom laughed and without thought said, "Ok, there's not _that_ much sex in the book."

Sybil's eyes widened for a moment. "And what exactly do _you_ know about it?"

Tom's squeezed his eyes shut. _Ah, feck._

"Well?" Sybil prodded.

Tom let out a long breath that was half laugh, half sigh. He had tried to tell her before. Maybe this time it would take. "I believe I told you last night," he said finally.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Right, you write romance novels. And I suppose now you're telling me you've written this one."

"Well, you asked so . . ." Tom scratched his head and looked out the window, not sure what to make of her unwillingness to accept what he kept trying to tell her.

Sybil watched him for a long moment, the scenery blurring by on the other side of the van window.

_T.B. Nightingale._

_T.B._

_Tom Branson_

_Oh my god._

_OH MY GOD._

Sybil suddenly leaned forward in her seat and yelled, "STOP THE VAN!"

Kyle glanced back at her confused. "Uh, what?"

"Please, just stop."

"Sybil, what's the matter?" Tom asked, but she didn't want to turn to face him.

Seconds later, the driver had pulled over and Sybil threw the van door open, jumped off and started running down the side of the road. Tom followed her, though at a slower pace given the tightness of the bandage around his thigh, which was starting to throb.

Sybil had no idea what she was doing, but the moment the truth dawned on her, she felt like she needed separation and fast. She couldn't exactly pin down what she was feeling, but she was oscillating between nervous, mortified, curious and—oddly enough, for reasons she couldn't begin to comprehend—aroused.

Tom, for his part, hadn't intended on revealing this truth in the way that he had, but despite not having been forthright about it with anyone outside his sister in the past, he didn't really feel inclined to keep hiding it from Sybil. What would be the point of lying to her? Still, her reaction had him completely baffled, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. Certainly, he didn't want this new knowledge about him to cast a negative light in her eyes, not when he liked her so much already.

"Sybil stop!" He yelled out.

She did, and turned back around so abruptly, it caused him to stumble backward slightly.

" _You_ wrote The Jewel of York!?"

Tom sighed. "Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did!"

"No you didn't!"

"I _tried_! You didn't want to hear it."

"You never said, 'That book that's in your hand right now, I wrote that'."

Tom rolled his eyes. "No, but I did tell you that writing romance novels is what I do more than once, and you kept laughing it off."

Sybil squeezed her eyes shut. "Well, yes, OK, but I hold that you could have been more bloody specific."

"None of that explains why you needed to run off just now!"

Sybil raised her hands in exasperation. "Isn't it obvious? I'm embarrassed."

Tom rubbed his face with his hands. "Do you think it's worse to be caught reading something lascivious or to be told that something you've written is embarrassing reading material?"

Sybil looked at him confused. "Wait, what? _You_ are embarrassed? Why?"

"Why do you think?! I write dime store novels for lonely housewives who have no other outlet for sexual expression, and I do it because I can't make a full living as a real journalist. A fact about which I'm so mortified, I haven't the heart to tell any of the important people in my life save one. And now this fantastic, astoundingly beautiful person says _she's_ embarrassed to admit she's reading something I've written, basically negating any positive feeling I might have hoped to engender in her regarding me. So if not embarrassed, then how am I supposed to feel?"

Sybil's shoulders drooped a bit, which set Tom to rolling his eyes again. "Please don't feel sorry for me," he said.

"Is that what you think?" Sybil asked.

Tom looked down at his feet.

She walked up to him and grabbed his chin with her right hand. "I'm embarrassed because of all the gushing I've done about the book, including but not limited to voicing a desire for sex half as good as you describe it."

"So you aren't embarrassed to be reading it?"

Sybil smiled. "Tom, I _love_ your book. I'll admit I had to be talked into buying it, but in case you haven't noticed, I've barely been able to put it down. You're a wonderfully good writer. And just because something is written for a female audience doesn't mean it isn't of any value."

Tom bit back a smile and looked away, embarrassed but now for different reasons entirely. Her hands still holding his chin, Sybil turned him back toward her and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

"What was that for?"

"For calling me fantastic and astoundingly beautiful, and for the good reading material."

A now very familiar smirk came over Tom's face. "How do you know I was talking about you?"

Sybil put her hands on his chest pushed him off with a laugh. "Dear god, you are incorrigible."

Tom tried grabbing her hands to pull her back into him, but Kyle, the van driver, cleared his throat loudly at that moment, and as Tom turned toward him, Sybil slipped his grasp.

"Uh, dudes, I'm kinda on the clock here."

Sybil smiled at Kyle sheepishly, walking back toward the van. "I'm sorry. Momentary freak out."

Once they were all back inside the van and on their way, Sybil and Tom remained quiet. There was so much more she wanted to say and ask him about his writing, why he kept it to himself, how he'd started, how it could be that it was so good. But Kyle decided to re-narrate the history and geology of the canyon, perhaps in an effort to keep them engaged and not wanting to jump out of the van again. When they got closer to Lihue, Sybil asked Kyle where they could buy provisions for the stag-hen night. Kyle ended up dropping them off at a small plaza a little less than a mile from the resort where there was a liquor store and a general store that sold a mix of souvenirs, clothing and groceries. To save time, they decided to split up and meet back in their room, with Sybil offering to go to the liquor store, which promised to be the heavier load, so Tom, whose leg was now throbbing, could get himself some painkillers along with any food or "party favors" that he might deem appropriate.

Sybil took her time browsing the liquor store, which had a surprisingly extensive wine selection that belied the plain, dumpy storefront. She bought several bottles she knew Gwen and her sisters liked as well as a twelve-pack of Waialua Wheat and a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey for good measure. The cashier—a woman with jet-black hair wearing a tight-fitting leather vest who looked to be in her 40s—laughed at the sight of her haul and said, "I want to come to _your_ party."

Since Sybil couldn't carry everything on her own, the cashier offered to set her purchases aside, while Sybil walked over to the general store to buy a couple of tote bags. At the store, Sybil walked around the aisles for a few minutes in search of Tom but didn't find him. She'd taken her time at the liquor store, so she figured it was likely he was already on his way back to the resort. Eventually, Sybil found a rucksack and a large tote to carry the alcohol, as well as a floral coverall to wear over her swimsuit. She was about to head to the registers to pay, when she walked by the store's collection of swimwear. She thought about the simple and sensible black one-piece that she had brought with her as she looked through the racks of barely-there bikinis. Then, she thought about the look on Tom Branson's face when she sauntered out to the patio wearing such a number and before she could think too much about what she was doing, she grabbed a red string bikini with small white polka dots off the rack and almost ran to the fitting room.

About fifteen minutes later, all of her purchases including the liquor secured, she made the walk back to the resort. Given the heat and the heaviness of her bags, by the time she made it back to her room, she was sweaty and exhausted. After setting down the bags on the kitchen counter, next to the ones Tom had left there, Sybil looked around for him and spotted his head sticking out over the back of one of the lounge chairs outside. Wanting to clean herself up before joining him there, she put the beer and white wine in the fridge, then headed to the bedroom.

Sybil threw her bag with her new bathing suit on the bed and walked straight through to the bathroom, where she noticed, as soon as she walked in, that Tom had taken the cover off the Jacuzzi and deposited what looked like a dozen rubber ducks in it. Laughing, Sybil walked up to the hot tub and saw that he ducks were "wearing" Hawaiian-style shirts that were blue with white flowers. She sat on the edge of the tub and picked one up out of the water.

_He is so odd,_ she thought. _And so oddly perfect._

But she didn't want another relationship. Did she?

_No_.

Of that she was sure—well, _pretty_ sure—but she did want to know him, to be around him, and to not be scared of the butterflies she felt flutter in her stomach when she was around him. She set the duck back on the water and quickly undressed and jumped in the shower, now more eager to join him on the patio.

Ten minutes later, once clean and refreshed, Sybil put her new bathing suit and coverall on and went back out into the suite's main room. She grabbed her bottle of sunscreen, two of the beers from the refrigerator and made her way outside, where another surprise awaited.

The glass patio door was soundproof, a fact Sybil didn't realize until she opened it and heard, along with the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the sand in the distance, the strumming of a ukulele.

When she came around to face Tom, there was the small instrument resting against his chest. He was wearing board shorts and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt not unlike the one on the rubber ducks. He looked up at her, winked at her and broke into song.

_I've got a twelve pack of beer and the food's on its way,_ _  
_ _A brand new risk board game and I'm ready to play._ _  
_ _You can go first after the pieces have been dispersed._

_From the Northwest Territory to Madagascar,_ _  
_ _You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen by far,_ _  
_ _And I wish you luck on your quest to rule the world._ _  
_ _And I can't help but smile as your army attacks._ _  
_ _I bet Napoleon Bonaparte never felt this relaxed._ _  
_ _Please don't get mad if I make up the rules as we go._

_There's so much to risk; there's so much to lose._ _  
_ _If you sank my battleship, I'd still look for clues._ _  
_ _My pursuits aren't trivial; you have a monopoly on my heart._ _  
_ _You can twister around, but please don't tear it apart._ _  
_ _Baby, next time, let's play life._

_Well it's Friday night, and I can't help my fascination_ _  
_ _With the way the light hits your face and world domination_ _  
_ _As the Ukraine gets attacked from the west._ _  
_ _And when the rolling dice stop and our little game ends,_ _  
_ _If you empire's destroyed, can we still be friends?_ _  
_ _Please take a card. I wouldn't want to cheat you._

_There's so much to risk; there's so much to lose._ _  
_ _If you sank my battleship, I'd still look for clues._ _  
_ _My pursuits aren't trivial; you have a monopoly on my heart._ _  
_ _You can twister around, but please don't tear it apart._ _  
_ _Baby, next time, let's play life._

_Checkers . . No, no, no._ _  
_ _Chess . . . Moves way to slow._ _  
_ _Sorry . . . Uh, I've got to go._ _  
_ _Scrabble . . . Can't get into the flow._

_There's so much to risk; there's so much to lose. I_ _  
_ _f you sank my battleship, I'd still look for clues._ _  
_ _My pursuits aren't trivial; you have a monopoly on my heart._ _  
_ _You can twister around, but please don't tear it apart._ _  
_ _Baby, next time, let's play life._

_And we could fly from the board up to the stars,_ _  
_ _In our little plastic astral cars._ _  
_ _Baby, next time, let's play life._ _  
_ _And if you accepted my invitation gladly,_ _  
_ _I would thank god for Milton Bradley._ _  
_ _Baby, next time, let's play life._

Sybil, who'd sat down on the lounge chair next to Tom's and set down the beer and sunscreen at her feet, clapped enthusiastically when he finished. She'd laughed throughout the song at the silliness of the words and blushed slightly at "the prettiest girl I've ever seen by far," which he sang looking directly into her eyes.

She bent over to pick up one of the bottles and handed it to him. "So he writes lovely erotica _and_ plays an instrument. Is there an end to his talents?"

Tom took the beer and held it up so she would clink his bottle with hers, which she did. After a long drink, he said, "Well, obviously, we both know the answer to that question is no."

Sybil rolled her eyes and laughed. "The question was not, 'Is there no end to your high self-regard?' I already know the answer to _that_."

"In all honestly," Tom said, more quietly, " _talent_ is not a word I'd associate with myself or anything I do, but I appreciate any compliment coming from you."

Sybil smiled. "Who taught you how to play?"

"I have an uncle who is what my mam likes to call a recovering musician. He was in a folk music band in the 70s, doing mostly Irish traditional songs. The group was famous around the county for about five minutes, but since then he's made a living teaching music. He taught me and my siblings how to play guitar and piano." He started strumming idly again and added with a laugh, "He likes to joke that he is the second most famous musician from Mullingar."

"And who's the first?"

"The One Direction kid."

Sybil threw her head back laughing, and Tom immediately started playing and singing again.

_You're insecure._ _  
_ _Don't know what for._ _  
_ _You're turning heads when you walk through the do-o-or._ _  
_ _Don't need make up, to cover up._ _  
_ _Being in the way that you are is eno-u-ugh._

_Everyone else in the room can see it,_ _  
_ _everyone else but you._ _  
_ _Baby, you light up my world like nobody else—_

"I think that's enough of that song," Sybil said, laying back on the lounge chair and stretching out her legs. "But I wouldn't mind hearing something traditionally Irish."

Tom started playing Danny Boy in a loud and exaggerated accent, which caused Sybil to laugh again, but after a stanza, his voice softened and he began to sing from the heart.

_Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling_ _  
_ _From glen to glen, and down the mountain side_ _  
_ _The summer's gone, and all the roses falling_ _  
_ _'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide._

_But come ye back when summer's in the meadow_ _  
_ _Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow_ _  
_ _'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow_ _  
_ _Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so._

_But when he come, and all the flowers are dying_ _  
_ _If I am dead, as dead I well may be_ _  
_ _You'll come and find the place where I am lying_ _  
_ _And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me._

_And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me_ _  
_ _And all my grave will warm and sweeter be_ _  
_ _For you will bend and tell me that you love me_ _  
_ _And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me._

After he finished, Tom looked over at Sybil, who was staring at him a bit starry eyed.

"That was beautiful."

Tom looked down and bit his lip, as if at a loss for words.

The ukulele had been something of an impulse buy. When he'd stepped into the general store, he'd gone straight to the groceries for snacks for the party, but on his way to the pharmacy for some painkillers, he'd spotted a display of them along with a songbook with music and arrangements by Israel Kamakawiwoʻole. A store worker came along just as he'd stopped and asked if he played. Tom answered yes and even before the salesperson made his pitch, Tom took down one of the instruments and one of the books, stuck them in his cart and kept going. Maybe he'd just wanted something to remember a trip that was already a memorable one for all kinds of reasons. Maybe he'd wanted Sybil to look at him the way she was now. Putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard never took much from him, but speaking aloud when his feelings were all astir was not something he could ever claim to be good at. So if her couldn't tell her, maybe he could sing.

"Any requests?" He asked, playfully.

"I think I'll like whatever you like," she said quietly.

He sat up and leaned over to his other side to pick up the songbook and splayed it out in front of him. Then, he started slowly strumming a tune that Sybil quickly recognized.

Tom glanced at her again as he continued to play. "You afraid of getting too much sun?"

Sybil looked down and noticed that she had laid down on the patio chair without taking off her coverall.

"Oh."

She set her beer down on the floor and stood. With a deep breath (this was the most skin she'd ever revealed in a swimsuit), she lifted the coverall off in one smooth motion and let it float to the ground at her feet.

Tom's fingers stopped their motion over the ukulele as he stared, mouth gaping open at the vision before him. Sybil was quite pleased at the effect and smiled to herself as she bent over to pick up her bottle of sunscreen. Tom blinked several times and cleared his throat. Still smiling, Sybil walked over and without asking him sat down on the edge of his lounge chair, holding the bottle up to him over her shoulder.

"Would you?"

Tom bit his lip, happy that she wasn't facing him to see how bright red he was sure his face was turning right now. "Would I what?"

She peered over her shoulder at him with a smirk. "I have very fair skin, and I'd rather not get burned, so a nice thick coat please."

Tom set the ukulele down and sat up, putting one leg on each side of the chair. He grabbed Sybil's waist, which caused her to jump slightly, and pulled her toward him. "I think this request counts as sexual harassment in some countries," he said.

Sybil laughed. "It's just a bit of sunscreen."

Tom chuckled and took the bottle from her. He squirted a generous amount onto his hand and began carefully to rub it on her shoulders and back.

Before, when she was caring for his knee, she had been touching him. The contact had been entirely on her side. Now, it was his hands that were getting to touch, and in his case there was no separate end, like cleaning a wound. It was touching for its own sake. Getting to experience her soft, supple skin, but without taking advantage. Accepting her invitation for what it was—a way of getting to know her. Sybil closed her eyes as he worked the lotion into her skin, laughing when he reached her ticklish sides and biting her lip as his fingers came precariously close, but never actually touched the slope where he lower back met her rump.

"All done," he said after several minutes.

She shifted slightly so she was facing him. "Want me to do you?"

"Very much."

They stared into each other's eyes for a minute, and when he arched his eyebrow, they both burst out laughing.

"I mean the sunscreen, you prick!"

"It's only a respectful suggestion, which you are welcome to decline."

Sybil sighed. "It's not that . . . I mean—I just think it'd be a mistake."

Tom's shoulders drooped slightly. "It's OK. You don't have to explain why you don't want to."

"I really like you, though."

"And I like you."

"And I really like that you're a writer—a really good writer."

"And I like that you're a nurse—a really good nurse."

Sybil stood up.

Then she sat back down. "Oh, sod it! We're on holiday."

And she grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Israel Kamakawiwoʻole was a Hawaiian musician most famous for his ukulele arrangement of Over the Rainbow. Even if you've never heard of him, odds are you have heard his version of that song on TV or in a movie at one point in your life.


	8. Chapter 8

 

The kiss started out a frantic battle of tongues, but as Tom lifted his left hand up to the back of Sybil's head, threading his fingers into her curly hair, still damp from her shower, Sybil angled her head and the kiss deepened and slowed. Sybil sighed, sinking into his arms. Tom's right hand swept up Sybil's leg, settled on her backside and pulled her into him. He gave her a playful squeeze, which made her laugh and pull away from the kiss.

Catching her breath, Sybil looked into his bright eyes for a long moment. She opened her mouth to say something, make some sort of joke, but she was at a loss. Her skin was tingling everywhere they were touching and her heart felt like it was going a hundred miles a minute. She couldn't put into words what she was feeling because she hadn't ever felt it before. It was a bit like she was swimming deep in the ocean—so deep she couldn't see the light of the sun—but she could still breathe and she was not in any hurry to get out. So instead of talking, without a word, she extricated herself from his arms and stood up. Tom watched her as she moved, also a bit at a loss as to what to say. He'd been the one who'd suggested sex but the kiss and the feel of her in his arms turned out to be overwhelming in a way he hadn't been quite ready for.

Sybil extended her hand to Tom, and he took it silently, a small smile forming on his face. He stood slowly and followed her as she led him into the suite, through the living room and into the bedroom. She stepped up to him again so they were only inches apart and pushed his already unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders.

Smiling shyly, she said, "I'm not very good at this whole seduction thing."

"Oh, yes, you are."

Sybil laughed, which caused him to laugh too—a deep throated sound that made her feel warm all over. "Stop teasing me," she said.

"I'm not."

Sybil reached her arms around to her back to untie her bikini, which fell soundlessly on the floor.

"I'd go as far as to say you are an expert at this whole seduction thing."

Sybil grinned. "Well, I learned it all from The Jewel of York."

Tom laughed again. "Oh, please, you—"

But before he could finish, Sybil raised herself up on her tip-toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into another long, languid kiss. Tom wrapped his own arms around her waist and gently began to guide her toward the bed without breaking the kiss. When the backs of Sybil's legs hit the bed, she pulled away and said breathlessly, "Before we do this, can you promise me something?"

"What?" Tom asked as his started kissing her on the neck just below her right ear.

"Promise that you're not going to fall in love with me."

Tom pulled away abruptly and looked Sybil in the eyes in shock. "What?!"

Sybil's arms slid from around his neck to his chest, where she rested her palms. "I just . . . um, well, you're Matthew and Mary's friend and I'll probably see you again after this holiday is over and I don't want things to be awkward, and I _definitely_ don't want a relationship. I just want us to have fun together, and I'm trying to set the appropriate parameters for fun."

Unable to stop himself, Tom began to laugh, which irritated Sybil.

"Don't laugh at me!" she said pushing him away and sitting down on the bed angrily, crossing her arms over her exposed chest.

Tom smiled. "I'm sorry," he said.

Sybil rolled her eyes and looked away.

Tom walked over to where his shirt had landed and he handed it to Sybil as he sat down on the bed next to her. "I wasn't laughing at you so much as the phrase 'appropriate parameters for fun'."

Sybil, who pulled the shirt over her front but didn't bother to actually put it on, couldn't help but smile at the ridiculousness of what she'd said.

Tom laid back on the bed and quietly said, "Come here," once he was against the pillows.

Sybil moved back against him and turned so her head was resting in the crook of his neck. They wrapped their arms around each other and stayed like that for several minutes before either of them spoke.

"So out there on the patio," Tom said finally, "when you said you liked me, that was a 'you amuse me' like me rather than an 'I want to see where this goes' like me?"

Sybil laughed. "Something like that." She shifted, pulling him toward her, so that they were still holding each other but were both on their sides and able to look one another in the face. "To be honest, I am not really sure _what_ I meant. I've spent the last two years of my life trying to parse meaning from the word 'love' as regards a person I only _liked_ , I'm afraid that word has lost a bit of meaning for me."

Tom pushed a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her face when she moved to face him. "Which word, love or like?"

Sybil sighed. "Possibly both."

"Can I tell you what I meant when I said I 'liked' you?"

Sybil bit her lip. She wrapped her leg around him and pulled his hardness, which she could feel through his board shorts, into herself. "I think you're already showing me," she said playfully.

Tom laughed. They were so close, Sybil could feel the way his chest shook against her own. He dropped a light kiss on her lips, then said, "Sybil, I can't promise I'm not going to fall in love with you. That doesn't mean I'm definitely going to, but to me, sex is fun— _good—_ when there's possibility. The thought of sleeping with you without that 'what if' hanging there for either of us is . . . a bit depressing, actually."

"So you already _like me_ like me? After just knowing me a day?" she asked skeptically.

"I like you period. The idea that that could turn into love is what excites me—physically _and_ otherwise."

"So sex with someone you like is sort of a nice version of Russian roulette?"

"Let's think of a better analogy, shall we?"

Sybil laughed. "You're the writer, so go."

"OK, we're in Hawaii, right? So think of it like walking up a cliff that overlooks the ocean. Maybe you'll just be happy admiring the view for a little while and walk back down the way you came, maybe you want to jump in with both feet—but not knowing what you're going to see on the way up . . . that's where the fun is."

"I'm sorry." Sybil bit her lip. "Do you think I'm a total nutter?"

Tom laughed. "No. I have my own relationship horror story."

"What is it?"

Tom closed his eyes. "I was with this girl for a year or so who liked playing movies while we shagged. To the point that she moved my telly into the bedroom. I was really neither here or there on it, but you know—no judgment. Anyway, when she ended things with me, I couldn't even look at the bloody thing, so I got rid of it. That was five years ago, and I still don't have one."

Sybil sat up and propped herself up on her elbow. "You don't have a television because of an ex-girlfriend?"

"Well, it's not that I have a problem with watching television per se. I still watch football at the pub all the time. I just hated looking at _mine_ , so my plan at the time was to replace it, but I was broke. Then I just got used to watching my shows on the computer."

Sybil laughed. "Your ex ruined you for your TV. My ex ruined me for wanting any future relationships."

"Did he ruin you for good sex?" Tom asked playfully.

"Your confidence knows no bounds."

"Look, if you really don't want to, that's OK, but potential awkwardness can't be your excuse."

"And why not?"

"Well, considering the fact that you've been topless and I've been _at attention_ the whole time we've been talking here, I would think we're sort of past the point of no return as far as potential awkwardness is concerned."

Sybil looked down and saw that the Hawaiian shirt that he had given her to cover herself up had fallen down to her waist. She looked back up at him without bothering to lift it up again. "I'm not usually so comfortable in such a state of undress with someone I've only known for one day."

He smiled. "I think that's true for most people."

Sybil rolled her eyes and laughed. "What I mean is, I don't usually fall into bed with a man I don't know very well."

"I wouldn't think less of you if you did."

"That's my way of saying that I feel unusually comfortable with you."

"What do you think accounts for that?"

"Honestly, I don't know." Sybil thought for a moment, then added. "Maybe it's knowing something about you that nobody else knows."

Tom smiled shyly and looked away.

"May I ask you something?" Sybil asked.

"What's that?"

"Have you really never told anyone that you're a published novelist?"

"My sister Maura knows. And obviously my agent, but that's it."

"And why does Maura get to know and no one else from your family?"

Tom chuckled. "It was kind of her idea."

"Oh? How so?"

Tom sighed. "Do you really want to know?"

Sybil poked him in the side. "Of course, I do!"

Tom laughed, then took a deep breath. "Well, to start, she's a huge fan of romance novels. When I first moved to London after uni, I slept on her sofa for about two months before I could scrounge up enough work to save up for a deposit on my own flat. On days when I didn't have freelance assignments to work on, I would grab a random book from her shelf and go get a coffee. One day, I grabbed a romance by accident, but I started reading it just out of curiosity."

"Oh God, did anyone give you funny looks?" Sybil asked laughing.

"If they did, I didn't notice."

"Too engrossed?" she teased.

"More like too shocked that this person was a published writer, and I was still crashing at my sister's flat."

"That bad?"

"God, it was just horribly boring. The writing was bad, but the writing about sex was worse. It wasn't very . . . imaginative, let's put it that way. It was all silly euphemisms and no actual passion. When I asked Maura about it later, she said that was par for the course for books like that. I was in the middle of a work dry spell at the time, and she made a joke about me taking a crack at writing a romance novel myself and actually finding an audience given that nobody really wants to read stories about how the economy is going down the shitter because too few people are controlling too much of the world's wealth. Anyway, she got me thinking about possibly doing something on the side. That night, I pulled an all-nighter, writing basically a very thinly fictionalized version of my first encounter with a professor I had a bit of a fling with at university."

Sybil's eyes widened. "You shagged one of your professors?"

Tom rolled his eyes, but Sybil could see a hint of pink coming into his cheeks as if he was genuinely embarrassed. "It's kind of a long story," he said quietly.

"Which you will fill me in on, eventually, but keep going."

Tom laughed. "So the next morning when she woke up, I asked Maura to read it. She was too embarrassed to read something racy written by her little brother, so she decided to give it to a friend to read instead. Apparently, the friend shared it with another friend, who shared it with another friend, and then another friend—I think it was like a dozen people at the end of it. And all of them got back to Maura saying they wanted to read more. That was how it started. Finding an agent and then a publisher took a few months. But there you have it."

"How did you decide not to tell anyone?"

"Mam's a bit of a devout Catholic, so it never felt like a good idea to tell her that I was making money writing about women having empowering out-of-wedlock sex. Maura has tried to convince me that mam wouldn't mind all that much, but neither of my parents were too keen on Cambridge or my choice to go into journalism—they both felt like I'd turn into a pseudo-English wanker and never find a real job. They turned out to be sort of right about the job thing, at least, so I was too embarrassed to say anything. And if I didn't tell my parents, who are supposed to be proud no matter what, then it seemed pointless to tell anyone else."

"Is Maura proud?"

Tom smiled. "She is, but she understands why I've kept it to myself—even if she disagrees with me about the decision itself to do so."

"Well, I'm proud of you too." The sincerity of Sybil's words hung between them for a long moment, then she asked, "And how did T.B. _Nightingale_ come about?"

"My agent said it would be better to hide the fact that I was a man."

Sybil smiled. "Like Joanne Rowling had to hide the fact that she was a woman!"

Tom laughed. "Sure, except I'm not the author of a magical series that will live in libraries across the world for eternity."

"Your words will live in my heart for eternity," Sybil said with an overdramatic sigh.

"Hate to be the one to tell you this, but I don't think you're going to live forever."

"I might! I'm a good nurse."

"You are that," Tom said in a whisper.

"So . . . that explains the T.B., but not the Nightingale."

Tom laughed. "That was also Maura's idea. When we were in school, I used to have a crush on the school nurse and Maura used to tease me about it."

"So you _do_ have a thing for nurses," she teased.

"Oh, yeah," he said nodding seriously. "The bikini is incredibly sexy, I'll admit it, but it's not more sexy than you taking care of me on the side of the road this morning."

Sybil smiled, endeared that he would be so taken by her simply doing what she was used to doing—what she had been born to do, take care of people.

Sybil lifted her left hand, which had been resting lightly on his waist and lifted it up to his face. She ran her fingers across his forehead, pushing some of the hair that was flopping onto it back. Then, she traced the path from the center of his forehead, down the bridge of his nose to his lips, which she tapped playfully with her fingers several times before bringing her hand back to the side of his face and pulling it toward hers into a soft kiss.

For a good long while, it was only kissing. Not foreplay. Just kissing.

Eventually, when they pulled away, Tom asked quietly, "Do you want to go into the hot tub and hang out with the ducks?"

Sybil giggled and pulled him back into her. "In a little while. _After_."

As they kissed, Tom shifted so he was on top of her. "Are you sure?" he asked as he pulled the string on one side of her bikini bottoms.

Sybil grinned. "Yes."

Tom pushed himself up to untie the other side of the bikini and pull it off her. "Well, then the ducks are going to be waiting for a lot longer than _a little while_."

"Is that so," Sybil said, sitting up so she was on her elbows. "Exactly how long are we talking?"

Tom leaned down again and began nibbling the skin under her right ear, slowly making his way to below her chin and then to the valley between her breasts.

"Let's just assume we're going to be on this bed for the foreseeable future."


	9. Chapter 9

 

When she woke up, Sybil sank happily into the deep and soft hotel pillow, not bothering to open her eyes right away. She felt so good—simultaneously relaxed and full of energy, like she could run a marathon, but was content to remain in her comfortable cocoon beneath the thick down comforter all day.

She wasn't sure how long she had slept, but assumed it wasn't more than a half-hour or so. Otherwise, her instinct for cuddling would have had her seeking out Tom in her sleep.

Thinking of him, the smile on her face turned into a grin and her cheeks warmed, with what she could only imagine was a considerable blush. Conventional was certainly not a label that applied to Tom Branson. In two-plus hours Sybil had climaxed no less than four times even though they had had "intercourse" only once. Who knew lips and tongues and fingers could elicit such sensations—and such screaming?

An apology note to the neighbors might be in order.

_Dear people in the next room, Deepest apologies. I had no idea that shagging could be so good moaning becomes involuntary. Regards, Sybil Crawley_

Sybil laughed out loud. Laughter that made her feel warm and content all over again.

_There's the satisfaction of a good shag_ , Sybil thought, _and then there's this . . . whatever it is._

It was a feeling. She couldn't really put it into words, and truth be told she didn't really want to try. She didn't want to think about it either. In fact, Sybil pushed any thought of feelings—any thought _period_ —out of her mind. She acknowledged to herself this was more than sexual satisfaction, but she wasn't ready to face anything beyond that acknowledgement. Instead, she pushed the comforter off and sat up slightly to see where, amid all their, um, _activity_ , Tom had landed on the bed.

She laughed when she rolled over and saw his feet propped up on the pillow next to hers. Propping herself on her elbow, she looked down the bed and saw that above his calves, the comforter was covering him up to his head. She bit her lip and put her hand on his left calf, tickling it ever so slightly. She felt him shift immediately toward her and felt first a hand on her thigh and then a light kiss on the inside of her knee.

She giggled and let her legs fall open. "What are you doing down there?" she asked, looking up to the ceiling as she sank back into the pillow.

"I think the pattern has been well established," was his reply, muffled by the comforter that was still over his head.

"Actually, I think you've proven yourself rather unpredictable," Sybil said.

"What's unpredictable are the sounds that are going to come out of your mouth," he said as he continued to kiss his way up her thigh.

Sybil laughed, surprising herself with how unselfconscious she felt. "I've never been so . . ."

"So what?"

She felt him pause momentarily in his ministrations, as if genuinely curious as to what she would say.

"Loud . . . uninhibited . . ."

"Eager?"

Sybil laughed. "All of the above."

She felt him shift again. His feet came off the pillow and just like that he was on top of her placing and soft kiss on her lips.

"Previous partners were obviously not up to snuff," he said with a wink.

Sybil tickled his sides, causing him to laugh and wiggle around over her. He finally landed on his side just next to her. He kept one arm around her as she snuggled into to him, and the other he used to prop his head up so he could look over her.

Sybil bit her lip nervously, feeling a bit like his eyes could see further into her than she wanted him to see. She looked away and said, "Some of that was probably on me too. I mean, they weren't all bad guys. Some were very earnest about wanting it to be good for me."

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "You used to fake it, didn't you?"

"Fake what?" she asked innocently.

He laughed. "You realize that doesn't do either party any favors."

"What else do you suppose I do?! Leave the poor bloke hanging when he's trying so hard? It's a nice thing to do."

"Yeah, just like euthanizing a horse that breaks down on the track is the nice thing to do."

Sybil sat up, laughing at the turn their conversation had taken. "I'm just supposed to lie there for however long it takes for them to get themselves off and hope they get it right for me?"

Tom laughed at her indignation. "No, you're supposed to say, 'Love, that isn't quite working, maybe try this'."

"And what's _this_?"

"Whatever it is turns you on."

Sybil sighed. "So the bad sex in my life is my fault, and really all along I should have been telling men exactly what I want?"

Tom sat up and scratched his head. "At the risk of sounding like I'm giving you relationship advice, I wouldn't say you're _supposed_ to do anything—only . . . well . . . when you aren't satisfied and you're not comfortable articulating why, maybe it's time to reconsider why you're sleeping with that person."

Sybil's expression softened into a smile. "Did you get that from Cosmo?"

Tom chuckled and looked away a bit bashfully. "More like a long process of trial and error."

"Did all those girls all tell you what they wanted?"

He shrugged. "Some did."

"Can I tell you what _I_ want?"

"You can," he said pulling her into him, and back down onto the bed, "but I want to exact a promise from you first."

Sybil smiled as she settled into his arms. "Oh, so I'm supposed to promise you something after you refused me?"

"If I'm ever not holding up my end, if you pardon the pun," Tom said, trying to keep a straight face as Sybil threw her head back laughing. "Then you'll tell me immediately."

Sybil considered correcting his use of the word "ever" but that would have required her to think about what she was feeling and she'd already resolved not to do that, not today. So she just kissed him. When she pulled away, she whispered into his lips, "I promise."

"So what does the lady want?" He whispered back in a tenor that sent shivers down Sybil's spine.

She smiled at the playful twinkle in his eye and answered, "The lady wants for the gentleman to finish what he was about to start a few minutes ago before getting sidetracked with his silly lecture about faking orgasms."

"Now, see, was that so difficult?"

Sybil playfully grabbed his hair and pushed his head back down under the comforter.

"Can we add demanding to your list of adjectives?" he said as he kissed his way down her chest and stomach.

Sybil was going to answer him, but her words melted into a sigh as he—his tongue to be precise—arrived at its destination. Within minutes Sybil was once again on the precipice of another soul-stirring orgasm, which was a rather a surprise. That it could be as good going this quickly, as it had been when they'd started, when it was anything but quick. After she'd given him her yes, he had slowly— _painstakingly_ , even—kissed his way down her body, all the way to her feet, before coming back up to where he'd more or less dived into just now. Sybil had not known what to make of it all and, perhaps in an effort to create the separation that she was seeking (but so far failing) to establish between them, she had said that he didn't have to take _that_ much time.

He'd laughed lightly in response and said, "I'm just getting the lay of the land."

_Meticulous is on_ his _list of adjectives_ , Sybil thought in the haze of her current arousal. _And caring._

Just before she went over the edge, he moved again. She heard the telltale sound of the condom wrapper tearing. (To their utter delight, they had discovered that the hotel left a complementary box in the bathroom.) In seconds, he came over her again and as she opened herself to him, he pushed in with a practiced ease that belied the fact that his was only the second time he'd been inside her. Sybil bucked her hips upward, but having already pushed in to the hilt, he stayed still. He put one of his hands on her hip and the other next to her head keeping his full weight off of her, and he said quietly, "Wait for it."

For several minutes they breathed into one another and focused on each other's eyes. Surrounded, but not confined by him, Sybil sought to tighten her grip on him further and wrapped her arms around his back, touching as much of it as she could. She began to feel a pulling in her heart as if it was trying to move up through her chest to be closer to him. She squeezed him with her arms, causing the hand that was holding him up to give way and in feeling the entire weight of him on her, Sybil hit her climax, letting out a long, deep breath as she shook. She was too physically overwhelmed to feel it, but as she came down from her delicious high, a small tear escaped from the corner of her eye.

Tom lifted his head from where he'd buried his face into her neck, and Sybil could feel him shivering over her and pulled him into a soft kiss. They shifted so they were on their sides, but remained connected. Sybil's leg draped over him to keep him close.

"At the risk of inflating an ego that's already the size of Big Ben, it behooves me to say that you are very good," Sybil whispered.

"We're good."

"Oh, please," she said with a smile, "I get the whole, 'tell them what you want' bit, but I couldn't even begin to know what to say to a man so that he'd make me . . . um, feel like I feel right now."

Tom smiled. "I guess we have a natural chemistry."

"I guess we do."

Sybil opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a sound that sounded suspiciously like a knock on the suite door.

They shifted apart and sat up. Tom leaned over to the night table for a tissue to clean himself off and noticed the clock radio. "Crikey, it's 10 'til five. That might be one of your family."

"What!?" Sybil exclaimed leaning over to check the time herself. "Bloody hell!"

She pushed the comforter off, jumped out of the bed and started pacing nervously. Tom couldn't help but smile at the fact that she didn't seem to care she was still completely naked.

"What are we going to tell them?! Ugh, if it's Gwen she'll see right through me lying. On top of how weird she and Edith were acting this morning. Why weren't you paying attention to the bloody time!"

Tom laughed and walked over to her, not bothering to get any clothes on either. "It was kind of hard to do that under the bloody duvet with my face buried in your—"

Sybil clapped her hand over his mouth and could feel his lips curve into a smile below her fingertips.

"OK, here's the plan," she said, quickly and quietly, "I'm going to jump in the shower for a second and make like I was in there when whomever it is got here, and you have to get dressed and sneak out the patio door."

"I'm taking this to mean we are not telling anybody about what happened, then," he said with a smirk.

"Of course, we're not, so go get bloody dressed and go!"

Sybil shoved him off and headed into the bathroom, where Tom immediately heard the shower start. He laughed as he went into the sitting area to his suitcase and grabbed a pair of clean shorts and T-shirt to slip on. He wasn't particularly surprised that she wanted to keep it under wraps, given what she had also wanted to make him promise. And he supposed he could do nothing but be amused by the relentlessness with which she insisted she didn't want a relationship. As well as the lengths to which she seemed prepared to go to keep those lines clear.

In the bathroom, Sybil stayed in the shower less than a minute, only long enough to wet herself and her hair. That accomplished, she jumped out and grabbed one of the hotel's complementary bathrobes. She came back into the sitting area as Tom was heading toward the sliding door.

"Where are you going?" she asked in a whisper.

"To the gift shop in the lobby. I need toothpaste. You want anything?"

"Condoms—in case the maids don't restock."

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh! I was going to suggest it before, when we were still in bed, but I . . . um, well, I was thinking now . . . I guess I wasn't sure they'd be needed."

Sybil smiled sheepishly, realizing he'd assumed, from her desire to keep their tryst under wraps, that she didn't want it to go past this afternoon. "Only if you want to."

Tom smiled back. "I'll see you in a bit," he said as stepped out onto the patio.

Sybil momentarily considered the fact that Tom hadn't clarified whether he did want to, but another knock on the door pushed the thought out of her mind for the time being. She could always convince him later.

She walked over to the door, touching her cheeks to check the level of her blush before opening it and trying to seem as natural as possible.

Gwen and Edith were standing, smiling, on the other side.

"Hello, you," Gwen said, pushing past Sybil into the room.

"We've been knocking for five minutes," Edith said coming in also, as Sybil closed the door behind them.

"I was in the shower," Sybil said, "I only just heard you now."

"So where's your friend?" Gwen asked plopping herself down on the sofa.

"If you're referring to Tom Branson, he's out," Sybil said, going over to the fridge for some water so she didn't have to meet Gwen's eyes.

"He's rather handsome, don't you think?" Gwen asked.

"Oh, stop, will you?" Edith said, clearly annoyed at how much goading Gwen was doing in her own favor over their bet.

"Stop, what?" Gwen responded with a faux-innocent look in her eye, "I'm only remarking on the obvious. I'm gay, not blind."

"What's going on?" Sybil said, having come out from behind the kitchen island with a bottle of water.

Gwen and Edith exchanged glances and Edith said, nonchalantly, "What do you mean, what's going on?"

"You two are up to something," Sybil said, looking back and forth between Gwen on the sofa, and Edith, who'd walked over to the patio door to look at the view.

"Gwen bet me a month's worth of laundry that you and Tom would shag before leaving Hawaii."

"Hey! No fair!" Gwen exclaimed, "You've just changed the situation by telling her!"

Edith laughed and rolled her eyes, "Oh like you weren't dropping hints all morning."

"Do you two make jokes about my life often?" Sybil said, crossing her arms, and trying her best to seem indignant even though she found the whole thing a bit funny, considering how little relative time it had taken for her and Tom to fall into bed since meeting last night.

"Oh, love, don't be mad," Gwen said. "It just seemed at breakfast like you fancy him, which is good! You need a good rebound shag, if you don't mind me saying."

Sybil sighed. In retrospect, the afternoon she'd spent with Tom had made her feel better than she'd felt in years, so Gwen was right, but she didn't want thought of it to cause her to blush again. Seeking an escape, she said, "Well, I'm going to get dressed, if you want to make bets on what I'll choose feel free."

"Actually, I am wondering what you brought for tomorrow," Edith said following Sybil into the bedroom.

Gwen stood up from the sofa and came into the bedroom also. Edith walked through the room to check out the bathroom as Sybil rifled through her suitcase in the corner. Gwen, on the other hand, stopped at the door. From that vantage point, she immediately noticed the discarded bikini and board shorts on the floor, so even before Sybil could answer her sister, Gwen yelled out, "DEAR GOD, YOU'VE ALREADY DONE IT!"

Sybil turned back toward her quickly. "Wh-What?!"

Gwen smiled knowingly. "Don't even try to deny it. Your face is three shades of red right now."

Edith came back into the bedroom. "Oh, Sybil, you didn't! We've barely been here 24 hours!"

Sybil opened her mouth to deny it, but the words died on her tongue and instead she covered her face in her hands to hide her embarrassment at how readable she was to her sister and best friend.

Gwen threw her arms up in victory. "YES! No doing laundry for a month—and it doesn't start until we get back, mind!"

Edith rolled her eyes. Turning back to Sybil she said, "I hope it was good. If I have to be her laundry slave for the next four weeks, you owe me dinner out when we get back—on you! Twice!"

"Well?" Gwen said looking at Sybil expectantly.

"Well, what?" Sybil replied, a narrowing her eyes at her friend.

"Oh, come on, Syb," Glenn prodded. "You can at least tell us if it was good."

Sybil turned back to her suitcase, pulled out a halter sundress from her suitcase along with a set of knickers. She bent over to slip them on beneath the robe before turning around.

"It was good," Sybil responded with a smirk. "There, now can I get dressed?"

"Just _good_ good or multiple orgasms good?" Gwen asked with a wink.

Edith grabbed her wife by the hand and pulled her out of the room. "OK, never mind, Gwen, _I_ don't need the details."

"Speak for yourself," Gwen said, looking back at Sybil. As Edith pulled her away, she mouthed, _How many?_

Sybil walked behind them to close the door, but just before she did, she held up her hand with all her fingers splayed out for Gwen to see.

"FIVE?!" Gwen yelled out, but her voice was muffled behind the now closed door.

Sybil laughed and leaned on the door with a sigh. It had been rather stupid to think that she could keep the fact that she and Tom had gotten so close from people who knew her better than she knew herself, but in the immediate aftermath, she had panicked. She thought again about how Tom had left and wondered whether she should be worried, but again she pushed the thought from her mind and resolved to get dressed and get through dinner and the stag party and wait until they were alone and with no likely interruptions before worrying about having messed things up. Maybe she didn't want a relationship, but she wanted very much to be his friend and to find a way to be a part of his life beyond this holiday.

Five minutes later, Sybil walked out to the sitting room.

"Oh, I like that dress," Edith said.

"I got it for granny's garden party last year," Sybil said, picking up the water bottle she'd opened earlier and taking another sip.

"So was it all garden variety stuff or did he get creative?" Gwen asked with a grin on her face.

Sybil smiled as a scene from The Jewel of York came to mind in which the heroine asks one of her suitors to surprise her and he responds by asking the butler to go fetch a different wine then going down on her at the dinner table. Sybil took another sip of water to hide her smile. She wanted to tell Gwen about T.B. Nightingale if only to see Gwen fangirl all over Tom. That was another thing she'd have to convince him about.

After she swallowed her drink of water, she said, "He was very generous. I'll leave it at that."

"Thank you," Edith said pointedly.

"Oh, hush, you and your aristocratic stoicism," Gwen said, tickling Edith. "You want to know just as much as I do."

Edith laughed and pushed her off. "So I guess this means it's really over with old Tom. And to think Mary went to the trouble of getting you this suite thinking it'd be him you'd be shagging."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Well, it was ridiculous on her part. That's been over forever. It never really started, honestly, which makes me the greater fool for having stuck around two years to see if it would."

"Well, when you're friends with someone as long as you two were, it seems the logical progression," Edith said. "I hate to admit I was surprised it took so long and that it ended up not working out."

Sybil said nothing and went back into the bedroom for her hairbrush.

"Well, I'm glad, Syb," Gwen said, calling out after Sybil. "Once the honeymoon period was over, you never seemed very happy."

"Aunt Rosamund will be disappointed," Edith said. "You know how much she loved Tom and his family."

"Can we please not talk about this—" Sybil said as she walked back into the sitting area, but stopped short as she saw Tom standing at the open patio door, holding a small bag.

"Hey, there, Casanova!" Gwen chirped teasingly.

Tom smiled nervously and looked to Sybil, who smiled back. "They know."

"OK, then," he said walking into the room and dropping the bag into his suitcase. (It was a dark gray plastic, so Sybil couldn't tell what was inside it.) "And apparently, Aunt Rosamund loves me, does she?"

Sybil bit her lip. "She means my ex."

A funny look came over Tom's face. "He was called Tom as well?"

Sybil nodded, now feeling a bit embarrassed and trying to remember if she'd called out Tom Branson's name amid their lovemaking. She wondered now if he thought she'd been referring to the other Tom in her life. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, but she couldn't very well say anything now when they had an audience.

"But we like _you_ much better," Gwen said with a wink. "And ours is the opinion that counts."

Tom chuckled as he stepped into the room. "Good to know."

"Gwen was the one who recommended The Jewel of York to me," Sybil said, looking at him.

His eyes widened a little bit. _Exactly how much do 'they know,_ ' he thought.

Sybil smiled, seeing the question in his eyes and turned to Gwen to add, "He saw me reading it earlier and was teasing me about it."

_So they don't know everything_.

"I'll have you know, romance novels are as old as literature itself," Gwen said, getting into her academic mode. "Jewel is actually a great book. Such work is generally dismissed as trite and insignificant because the patriarchy doesn't know what to do about anything that's made specifically for and consumed by women for their singular enjoyment—particularly if it portrays women in a sex-positive way."

"She has hours worth of these kinds of rants in her head if you really enjoy an argument," Edith said, laughing.

"So you've _studied_ these books?" Tom asked seeming actually intrigued.

"Oh yes," Gwen said. "My dissertation is about femininity and sexual empowerment in popular culture. I have an entire chapter on romance novels and I mention the author of Sybil's book several times."

"Really?!" Tom and Sybil said at the same time.

"I didn't know that," Sybil added.

"Well, now you do," Gwen said. Turning to Tom, who seemed, to Sybil, a bit flushed, Gwen added, "You should read it too, and then tell me what you think. I'd love to have a man's perspective—at least one who isn't submerged in literary theory like my classmates."

"Please," Edith said, "You're reading women's studies. You don't have any male class mates."

Sybil laughed.

"I'm serious!" Gwen said. "You really should read it, Tom, maybe pick up a few pointers."

He laughed—a bit uncomfortably, Sybil noted—but still managed to say, "I think I do OK."

"Well, Sybil's not giving up much in way of detail," Gwen said, "so we'll just take your word for it."

After she spoke, Tom caught Sybil's eyes and she winked at him. Her dress was blue, which brought out her eyes. Her hair was curling every which way, and her face was clear of any make up. She looked so beautiful, he felt a bit lost. Needing to take himself away for a moment, he saw that they were all dressed for dinner so he made note of his own need to get ready.

"You two never said why you came by," Sybil said as Tom bent over his suitcase and pulled out a pair of khakis and a navy polo.

"Do we need a reason?" Gwen teased, then added, "We were just thinking of going for a walk on the beach before the luau. We have about an hour before it starts."

"Sure, OK," Sybil said, then looked over at Tom.

He pointed to the bathroom. "I need to shower so . . ."

"Is everything ready for tonight?" Edith asked before he went in.

"Yeah," he said looking at Sybil. "I got crisps and crackers and cheese—"

"And a ukulele," Sybil cut in with a smile. "If we want to have a bit of a sing-along. And we have a tons of wine and beer."

"Brilliant," Edith said.

"And we'll bring the game," Gwen added.

"Game?" Sybil asked.

"You'll see," Gwen said with wink.

"It's just a sort of personal questionnaire a friend of ours put together for her brother's wedding. It's meant to see how well they know each other."

"The results can be quite hilarious," Gwen said.

Sybil furrowed her brow. "Do you honestly think you'll get Mary to do this?"

"Well, we'll have to get her pissed first," Edith said. " _Obviously_."

"So . . . walk?" Gwen said, standing from her spot on the sofa.

Tom pointed to the bathroom. "I think the shower is calling my name, so I'll just see you all at dinner," he said and disappeared into it.

"Aw," Edith said, smiling, "we made him nervous."

"Let's just go," Sybil said, "so you two don't traumatize him any further."

She went into the bedroom to slip some shoes on while Edith and Gwen went to wait for her on the patio. She still really wanted to talk to him, to make sure that everything between them was OK, but she couldn't very well do it with Gwen and Edith waiting. He hadn't seemed put off by the knowledge that Edith and Gwen knew their little secret. If anything he had been more embarrassed by Gwen's gushing over his book—something that Sybil felt he needed to hear.

She surveyed the room for a way to say something to him without having to actually say something, and she saw it when she spotted a pad and pen on a small table next to the suitcase stand. She picked both up and put pen to paper, but what was there to say? What could she allow herself to say without letting out the torrent of _feeling_ (there was that word again) that she was trying to hold back. She laughed at herself and finally settled on simply drawing a small heart and signing her name.

She ripped the top page of the pad off, walked back out into the sitting area and dropped the paper on the top of his suitcase, hoping that even if she hadn't said anything, he would know what she meant.


	10. Chapter 10

 

After stepping off the patio, Sybil, Gwen and Edith slipped off their shoes and walked all the way to the waterline then turned east to walk along the beach. For most of the walk, Gwen and Edith filled Sybil in on what she had missed on the three-hour long bike ride down Waimea Canyon. At one point, Gwen pulled out her mobile to show Sybil the pictures some of the pictures they had taken. They didn't press Sybil for too many more details on how she had spent her afternoon, but Gwen did say that in spite of the fact that she had won the bet, she was sorry that Sybil had missed the family outing. Sybil only smiled and shrugged her shoulders in response.

Sybil supposed that the vistas she and Tom had missed were quite beautiful. Still, she didn't regret leaving, and it wasn't just because of the sex. Sybil had an inkling in the back of her mind—the very same feeling that kept nagging her about what the afternoon had meant—that even if she and Tom had spent the whole time talking or simply sitting quietly side-by-side on the patio as he strummed on the ukulele, she would've still been happier to be there with him.

As they walked, the three young women also talked about what it would be like for Mary and Matthew, sweethearts for so long, to finally tie the knot. Matthew's father, Reginald, had been adopted by a cousin of Robert's father after Reginald had lost both of his parents during World War II. Reginald had been sent to Yorkshire during the bombings in London, and after his parents' deaths, he'd stayed there, eventually taking the name of Crawley. Having become acquainted as children and being so close in age, Reginald and Robert were friendly with one another growing up, a fact that also came to be true of Matthew and Mary, whose friendship became something more than friendship in the years they were apart because of university.

"Do you know why Mary decided not to have a real wedding?" Edith asked Sybil, as the trio made their way back to the resort.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "She _is_ having a real wedding."

"Oh, you know what we mean," Gwen said, "a wedding at Downton with a huge dress and all of us as her bridesmaids."

Sybil shrugged. "I don't know, but to be honest I like this better. I hate all the fuss people always make about weddings."

Edith laughed. "That's funny coming from you, considering you didn't even want to come."

"And aren't you glad now that you did?" Gwen asked, giving Sybil a playful shove.

Sybil rolled her eyes again, but both Edith and Gwen could see the hint of a smile curling her lips. They looked at each other, and Edith asked the question that both had been wanting to ask since seeing Tom and Sybil together.

"So is this a 'what happens in the islands stays in the islands' kind of scenario or should we expect Mr. Branson to come around more often once we're home?"

"Well, I suspect the latter, since he's a friend of Matthew's," Sybil said, knowing she wasn't answering the real question.

Gwen gave Sybil a pointed look.

Sybil laughed and then sighed. "Honestly, I don't know."

"Well, what do you want to happen?" Edith asked.

"I would like for us to be friends," Sybil said. "Other than that, I really just don't want to think about it right now."

"Friends with benefits?" Gwen asked.

"Friendship is a benefit," Sybil said.

Gwen laughed. "Yes, and so are blowjobs."

"Please don't be crude," Edith said, scrunching her face up in disgust.

Sybil laughed. "As if you've ever given one."

"I _have_ ," Gwen said. "How do you think I realized I was a lesbian?!"

All three of them laughed for several minutes.

"Well, whether or not it is Tom Branson," Edith said. "You are going to need to find somebody soon."

"Why?" Sybil asked.

"Well, now that Mary and I are both paired off, mum and granny have only you on which to focus their match-making attention."

Sybil groaned. "Ugh, you're right. I guess it's a good thing I've moved to London then."

"As if a little distance is going to stop either of them," Edith said with a laugh.

"It's too bad Violet's doctor wouldn't let her come," Gwen said.

"Please, that was just an excuse," Edith said. "Granny hates the sun, sand and tourists. This is basically her worst nightmare."

Sybil and Gwen laughed.

The trio turned back inland as they approached the resort again. Stepping back onto the sidewalk to Sybil's patio, they spotted Mary sitting back in one of the lounge chairs, looking every bit the movie star with her linen tank dress and Audrey Hepburn sunglasses.

"Speaking of the blushing bride," Gwen said as they came upon her.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd found a better option for dinner."

Gwen looked down at her watch. "Golly, it's past 6:30! I didn't realize we walked for that long."

"Was it nice?" Mary asked, standing.

"It was," Sybil said, looking through the patio doors into the suite. "Where's Tom?"

"Oh," Mary said looking back in the direction Sybil was looking. "He and Matthew went to take his things to his new room."

"New room?" Sybil asked trying to keep the alarm she was suddenly feeling out of her voice. "What new room?"

"I told you when we arrived that you only had to share temporarily," Mary said nonchalantly. "Now you have this gorgeous suite all to yourself."

"But you said the new room wouldn't be ready until tomorrow," Sybil said.

"There was an early departure, apparently," Mary replied. "The concierge told us when we got back." Mary looked at Sybil with a funny expression. "I thought you'd be pleased."

This set Edith and Gwen to laughing.

"What?" Mary asked, looking suspiciously between all three.

"I'm going to the loo," Sybil said in a huff and went inside.

"What's with her?" Mary asked.

Gwen opened her mouth but thought better of it and looked at Edith in question.

"Oh, just tell her," Edith said. "She's bound to figure it out anyway."

Gwen sighed. "They shagged."

"Ha!" Mary exclaimed with a laugh. "That certainly didn't take long."

"Aren't you surprised?" Edith asked, narrowing her eyes at her older sister.

"I actually sort of suggested it while we were in Los Angeles," Mary said. "If anything, I suppose I'm surprised it took so little prodding."

"Well, Gwen did her share of it," Edith said with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, I didn't!" Gwen said laughing. "She's jealous because we made a bet this morning on whether they'd do it and I won."

"Matthew noticed that they were rather chummy when they left the outing this morning as well," Mary said. "I am glad, though. She needed something to get her out of her own head. "

"Do you think it'll last?" Edith asked.

"I don't know," Mary said. "Matthew loves Branson, obviously, so he's always around. Sybil's only now moved to London so she's bound to see more of him, but she insists she doesn't want a relationship."

"Would he be good for her?" Gwen asked. "Would he be a friend? I mean Tom—the other one— _was_ a friend, but he became a bloody selfish prick when they started going out."

"He wasn't _that_ bad," Edith said.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "OK, so he wasn't the worst person in the world, but he was bad for Sybil."

Mary sighed. "Gwen's right. Poor darling, she's been miserable for weeks."

"But do you think _this_ Tom will be better?" Gwen asked. "Once they get past the shagging, could they actually like each other?"

Mary smiled. "Tom's . . . well, he's a special character, that's for sure, but I do think she'd like him if she let herself."

"Too bad we can't slip them a love potion," Gwen said with a dramatic sigh.

"Love potions produce infatuation, not love. I spent the last two years dealing with that, and I can tell you it's the last thing I want."

Gwen, Edith and Mary all turned to see Sybil standing at the patio door with a smirk on her face.

"Also, a love potion produced Voldemort—or am I the only one who remembers Harry Potter?" Sybil asked, seemingly nonplussed by the conversation she'd interrupted. She stepped onto the patio and closing the door behind her and added, "Let's be off, shall we?"

"Sybil, darling," Mary said approaching her carefully.

"You know what? I don't want to talk about it," she said, more sharply than she intended.

"We're just—"

"You're just a trio of busybodies as bad as mum and granny and apparently need to be reminded that it's _my_ life," Sybil said, cutting Gwen off. She looked at their contrite expressions and laughed. "Oh, come on, I'm not made of glass," Sybil said. "I don't know what's going to happen with Tom Branson, but I'm not going to spend the rest of the night worrying about it so you shouldn't either."

Gwen's brow furrowed, skeptically. "So everything's OK?"

Sybil nodded.

"And you don't mind that he's got his own room now?" Edith asked.

Sybil sighed. "Let's just go to the luau, please?"

Mary stepped forward and pulled Sybil into a hug. "How are you going to handle all of us trying to help you find happiness? You realize that's all we're doing, right? Making sure you're as happy as we are?"

Sybil laughed, as Gwen and Edith joined the hug. "How am I supposed to stay cynical about love and marriage surrounded by you sappy lot?"

They all laughed and Sybil felt warm in the close proximity of the women to whom she felt closest in the world.

The truth was Sybil was, in fact, a little bit worried. She'd left things much more open ended with Tom than she'd intended. The intrusion of Gwen and Edith earlier and her reaction to it (rash, needlessly panicky and standoffish, in retrospect) had left him, she believed, with the impression that she didn't care for him or, worse, that his feelings didn't matter to her. When she'd gone inside just now it wasn't to go to the loo, but to see if he'd taken her note (there was no trace of it) and if he'd left her something in return. But there was nothing. She didn't want to read too much into his departure, but without talking to him, without _seeing_ him, she couldn't know where they stood.

Still, she hadn't been strictly lying when she'd said she wasn't worried about what would happen with him. Whether it was the sex or simply spending time with someone she liked so easily, she felt calmer than she had the day before, when the mere prospect of a holiday or having fun felt like a burden. She was relaxed and happy. Now she just wanted to make sure that he was happy too.

And make sure that he still wanted to be her friend.

And make sure that— _if he wanted_ —they could continue to fool around.

After making their way to the area where the luau was to take place, Mary, Edith, Gwen and Sybil saw that their parents, Isobel and Dr. Clarkson were already seated at one of several large U-shaped tables facing a small stage. They had distributed themselves in such a way that Matthew and Mary would be at the center with Isobel and Cora on either side of them. Robert was on Cora's other side, with Richard next to him and one empty chair on his other side. The two men were deep in conversation about which golf courses they'd play over the next few days, once the wedding festivities were over.

Sybil sat next to Isobel, who immediately asked her how her job search was going. They chatted for several minutes, so Sybil didn't notice until Matthew and Tom arrived—only minutes before the luau was to start—that Edith and Gwen had chosen the chairs next to her, leaving Tom next to Richard and clear across the table. He and Matthew had been laughing when they joined the group, and his demeanor certainly didn't seem put off or offended in anyway, which made Sybil glad. Still, he wasn't making eye contact with her, and after a while she wondered whether it was deliberate.

As the event began, the master of ceremonies welcomed the guests and talked about the history of the traditional Hawaiian luau as well as the dances they were about to see. Sybil kept her eyes trained on Tom until he finally looked at her. He smiled, though she could easily see that it was not so bright as the smiles she'd seen on his face earlier in the day. He kept his lovely blue eyes on her for a few moments—intense as ever even from a distance—and Sybil's smile turned to a grin then a slightly embarrassed blush. His smile widened momentarily as Sybil brought her hand to her cheek and looked away. When she looked back at him again, his eyes were on the stage again, where the dancers had begun their performance.

Dinner was served a short while later. From the platters of delicious tropical fruit to the roast pork, the food was exquisite. That combined with the lively music, the breeze coming into the terrace from the ocean, and the company of those she loved the most, Sybil felt like all of her senses were heightened. Occasionally, she and Tom exchanged glances but each time he looked away first.

Eventually, after the performance had ended and dinner began to wind down, Tom excused himself to find the loo. Sybil couldn't help but follow him. As she waited for him in the hallway inside the hotel, she wondered whether her departure from the table immediately after his was especially obvious to her sisters and Gwen, but she quickly decided she didn't care.

When he stepped back out into the hall, he smiled upon seeing her.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she answered quietly.

"How was your dinner?"

"Delicious," she said patting her stomach. "I should be happy it's only a week holiday or else I'd leave here several dress sizes bigger."

"I'm sure you'd look as lovely as ever," he said with a warm smile.

"The better to fill out my bikini, I suppose."

Tom laughed softly and scratched his head, not sure of what to say.

"Did you get my note?" she asked tentatively.

"I did."

"But you left anyway. You didn't have to do that, you know."

"Well, they'd gone to the trouble to book the room, and I wasn't really sure . . . anyway, I guess I thought if you didn't want people to know, it was best not to make up an excuse to Matthew and Mary for wanting to continue to bunk with you. And there's you still getting over your ex. I guess I figured you would want the space."

Sybil bit her lip, then said, "It wasn't about him. That's not what this afternoon was about—I mean, I don't know how much you overheard between Edith, Gwen and me, but . . ."

"So it's just a coincidence?"

"You both being named Tom? Yes, an unfortunate one—" Sybil stopped short then laughed. "Or fortunate, I guess, depending on how you look at it."

Tom furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You and I ended up sharing a room because when Mary's assistant told her you were coming to Hawaii with us, Mary thought Anna was talking about _that_ Tom. She thought he and I had gotten back together and that we'd want to share."

"Oh, but, um . . . you're not . . ."

"No! That was absurd of her to assume, but like I said, not so unfortunate, in retrospect."

Tom looked down at his feet.

"I'm sorry."

"About what?" He asked looking up at her again.

Sybil sighed. "Being coy with you even though I've liked you since we met. Then earlier telling you I wanted to keep what happened between us a secret, then pushing you out of the suite, then not keeping it a secret. I'm not usually so fickle—at least, I try not to be."

Tom shrugged. "I suppose I give my share of mixed signals."

"Well, you haven't with me—at least, not until just now."

"I was trying to rein myself in a bit. Not make it so obvious."

Sybil smiled. "Not make it so obvious that we had sex?"

Tom looked down again. "Not make it so obvious how much I like you." He took a breath, then added, "Especially since you don't want it to go any further."

"I didn't say that!"

Tom rolled his eyes and laughed.

Sybil laughed too. "Oh, all right, I did."

"It's OK," he said with a smile Sybil could see was sincere. "I'm not offended or anything, and it certainly doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Sybil couldn't help but blush, thinking of her earlier conversation with Gwen and Edith, but she said it out loud. What did she have to lose? "Friends with benefits?"

Tom laughed. "Friendship is a benefit."

Sybil smiled brightly and felt warm inside recognizing her own words. After a moment, she said, "Look, if you don't want to it's OK. I know it's rather horrible of me to want to have it both ways, but after being so long with someone who made everything so difficult, it feels good to be around someone with whom it's easy. And _good_. Did I say that already, because it was, in fact, bloody fantastic."

A slight, but rather becoming blush came over Tom's face. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Did you?"

"At the risk of freaking you out further, I'd say it was the best it's ever been for me."

Now it was Sybil's turn to blush, but she didn't feel embarrassed. She was proud. "It'd be a bad to let all that chemistry go to waste," she said taking a tentative step closer to him.

"The ducks would be very disappointed," Tom replied, nodding solemnly, and taking a step closer himself.

"Mary knows too now, which means Matthew will before the night is over."

"So there's no real point in pretending the chemistry is not there."

"Well, I wouldn't go telling my parents just yet, unless you want to get the third degree."

Tom laughed slightly, which Sybil could feel on her cheeks now that they were only inches apart again. "We better get back, then," he said, not moving from where he was standing, "lest they start to wonder."

Sybil stood on the tips of her toes so her lips were even with his and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Yes, we better go right now."

Tom took Sybil's face into his hands and pulled her the rest of the way into him.

It was a soft, unhurried kiss, intimate and loving, deep and personal. The kind of kiss that changes things, that holds the promise of more. In the case of Sybil and Tom Branson, it was so much more than either of them was ready to think about.

They didn't walk back to the table holding hands. But they had both wanted to.


	11. Chapter 11

 

By the time Tom and Sybil made it back to the table, dinner had ended and everyone was standing and discussing the following morning's events. Gwen nudged Edith as she watched Tom and Sybil join the family again, not behaving like a couple exactly, but neither steering too far from the other. Cora and Robert invited everyone back to their suite for a champagne toast, at the end of which they let the young people "go have fun" with a reminder not to go too crazy since tomorrow was an important and special day.

Once they all said their goodbyes, Mary, Matthew, Gwen, Edith, Tom and Sybil made their way back to what was now only Sybil's suite, walking along the beach from the patio of Cora and Robert's suite, which was on the other end of the resort.

"So are you two ready to take the big plunge?" Gwen asked teasingly.

Mary and Matthew, who were a few steps behind the rest of the group and holding hands, looked at each other and smiled.

"I think so," Mary said.

"To be honest," Matthew said, "the only thing that will change is the fact we'll live together. In every other way, I've thought of Mary as my wife for so long I don't remember not doing so."

"Really?" Mary said in surprise.

Matthew shrugged. "I've always wanted to marry you, so I guess I always thought of you that way."

Edith laughed. "Well, you're sweet to say that Matthew, but if you think living with Mary is going to be a _small_ adjustment, let me disavow you of that notion now."

Matthew laughed, but Mary only rolled her eyes.

"Oh, I'm not talking about you being hard to live with," Edith said.

"Of course you aren't," Mary answered sarcastically, giving her sister a knowing look.

"I'm not!" Edith replied. "I just mean that loving someone and living with them are two very different things. I'll be honest, there are some days I think Gwen and I should live in adjoining houses instead of sharing one."

"Then I could _finally_ have the gaming room I've always wanted," Gwen said with a wistful sigh, causing everyone to laugh.

"She does have a point, mate," Tom piped in. "I've lived with two women and in both cases 90 percent of the disagreements were over cleaning and wardrobe space."

Sybil laughed. "Well, these two are going to have a housekeeper and his and hers walk-in closets."

"No live-in housekeeper," Mary said somewhat humorlessly. "He nixed that idea."

Matthew rolled his eyes not wanting to have the argument for the umpteenth time—certainly not with an audience. "Sue me for not wanting to have a third party living with us during our first year of marriage."

"I'm an exceedingly good lawyer, so don't tempt me," Mary replied with a smirk. "There's an army of servants living at Downton, and it hasn't affect mum and dad's marriage."

"They live in castle the size of Wales," Matthew said. "We'll have someone come in three times a week, which is plenty. How big a mess can two people make?"

"Well," Tom said, "taking the newlywed factor into account and your willingness to try different surfaces and positions—"

"STOP!" Mary said, letting Matthew's hand go to give Tom a shove. Edith, Gwen and Sybil had all burst out laughing at Tom's words. "OK, we're nipping this conversation in the bud _now_."

Tom shook his head, laughing. "I guess that's why they call it _filthy_ rich."

"Please," Matthew said, laughing himself. "You always complain about the lousy wages journalists make and you live in a nicer flat than I do."

"It's not _that_ nice," Tom said.

"Well, you've got three bedrooms in Notting Hill, so nice or not, it isn't _cheap_ ," Matthew said. "You can give my name to the fairy who's helping you afford that one."

Sybil looked at Tom with a grin, suddenly wondering—given how lucrative T.B Nightingale's career likely was—whether Tom _Branson_ needed to be a journalist at all and whether hiding his success doing something he was terrified to tell people about would always be possible.

"You live in Notting Hill?" Sybil asked him quietly.

"Yeah, I'm still waiting for my Julia Roberts to pop by," he responded with a wink that caused Sybil to blush.

"Syb lives there too," Gwen said. "Maybe you two could shack up—oh wait."

Sybil turned to glare at Gwen, which only cause her to laugh.

"Oh, come on, Sybil," Edith said, "a measure of teasing is allowed."

"Hey, look we're here!" Sybil said over-enthusiastically as she ran up to the patio from the beach.

"I think I'll come help," Tom said, following her into the suite.

"Sorry about that," Sybil said as they both walked into the kitchen. "They're just . . . excited, I suppose."

"About what exactly?" Tom asked as he opened one of the cupboards to look for glasses.

Sybil shrugged. "About the fact that I'm happy."

Tom stopped short and looked over to where Sybil was leaning over the counter. They shared a long look, then Tom looked away with a smile and said, "Glad I could help."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Who said it was you?"

"I believe _you_ said it, this afternoon, over and over, and quite loudly too. I could go ask the neighbors since they probably heard."

Sybil moved to shove him playfully, but Tom pulled her into a hug and just like that it was a kiss.

Meanwhile outside, the rest of the crew had walked onto the patio just as Tom and Sybil had gone inside.

Matthew took a seat in one of the lounge chairs on the patio and asked, "Teasing about what?"

Gwen and Edith looked at Mary, realizing Matthew wasn't yet in the know.

"You haven't said anything?" Edith asked Mary.

"Said anything about what?" Matthew said looking back and forth among the three.

"When would I have done it?" Mary replied to her sister.

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asked again.

"Mum and Isobel were on either side of us," Mary continued. "Do you really want mum to get after Sybil? There'll be plenty of time for that."

"OK," Matthew stood again. "What in bloody hell am I missing?"

"Hang on," Mary said, rolling her eyes. She went over to the open patio door and cleared her throat loudly as she came in, causing a kissing Tom and Sybil to jump apart in surprise. Smiling, Mary asked, "Is it all right if we tell Matthew?"

"Tell Matthew about what?" Tom asked, confused.

Sybil, though, knew the answer to the question and said, "She means about us."

"Oh, um . . ." Tom looked at Sybil as if eager to take his cue from her.

"If you're kissing with us only a few feet away, you can't possibly care who knows, so never mind," Mary said, deciding she didn't need permission and turning around to go back outside.

Less than a minute later, Matthew came in wearing a huge grin on his face, with Mary, Edith and Gwen following behind him.

"I'd just like to make it known—and remind _you_ ," Matthew said pointing to Tom, "that I called this two years ago."

"What are you talking about?" Sybil asked.

Matthew came into the kitchen, as Mary took a seat on one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island and Edith and Gwen sank into the sofa. "I told him I wanted to set you two up, but he said no," Matthew answered Sybil.

"What?!" Sybil exclaimed looking at Tom wide-eyed.

Tom laughed. "OK, at the time my frame of reference for a Crawley woman was Mary, who, while lovely and a perfect companion for dear Matthew, is not exactly my type."

"Right back at you, darling," Mary said with a smirk.

"Why didn't you ask _me_ if I might have liked him!?" Sybil said to Matthew, feeling rather distressed that happenstance seemed to have robbed her of two years with someone she really liked.

"I said something to Mary," Matthew said.

"You did?" Mary said.

"Yes," Matthew said, "and you said she was already going out with T—um . . . well, what's his name."

"It's OK, mate," Tom said with a smile. "I know he's called Tom too. We've decided that was a good coincidence."

"And we've decided that we're just going to be friends."

Mary laughed, thinking of the embrace she had just interrupted. "Good luck with _that_."

"You're deciding things together already," Gwen said grinning. "How positively couple-y."

"Hush, you!" Sybil said.

"Speaking of couples," Tom said a bit more loudly than was necessary, wanting to draw attention away from himself and Sybil, "there's one here getting married tomorrow and if this is to be a proper hen and stag, they need to be good and pissed, so let's start with a toast, shall we? Sybil's bought a nice selection of alcohol, so I thought we'd start with a whiskey."

"Oh, none for me," Mary said hopping off the stool and coming into the kitchen to go through the wine bottles that Sybil had set on the counter.

"You're not getting out of a toast in your honor," Gwen said, as she and Edith both stood to come over to the kitchen as well.

"I hate whiskey," Mary said making a face. "It always makes me ill."

"Oh, come on," Tom said opening the bottle as Sybil lined up the tumblers along the counter. "It's good luck."

"I'm sure it is," Mary said with a roll of her eyes.

"Just one, darling," Matthew said taking one that Tom had just poured and handing it over to Mary with one hand as he pulled her into him with the other.

Mary took the glass and eyed it warily. "If I'm hung over on my wedding day I will kill all of you," she said, setting everyone to laughing. Looking at Matthew she added, "And don't think you're exempt from that because you'll be my husband."

"I take every threat from you very seriously, darling," he said, placing a soft peck on her cheek.

Once everyone had a drink in hand, they all stood in a close circle, lifted their glasses.

"Let's make this a round-robin toast," Tom said. "I'll start. To Matthew and Mary."

Next to him, Matthew added, "To a long fruitful marriage."

"To everlasting happiness," Mary said.

"To enduring love," Edith said.

"To good sex," Gwen said. Edith jabbed her in the ribs, as everyone else laughed. "What? It's an important factor!"

"To friendship," Sybil finished, closing the circle.

They all clinked the glasses and yelled out, "Cheers!"

The fun was just beginning.


	12. Chapter 12

 

After the toast, Matthew and Tom went outside to try to get a fire going. Once the girls had gotten themselves drinks, they walked out to the patio to join them.

"Where did you get the nicely cut wood?" Mary asked as she sat down in one of the four patio chairs Matthew and Tom had pulled over from the table, along with one of two the outdoor lounge chairs, on the other side of the patio.

Tom pointed to a small shed just next to the door.

"Aren't you going to light it?" Gwen asked taking a sip of her wine.

"We're trying," Matthew said. "Napkins don't make for good kindling."

"I thought you weren't allowed to build fires on the beach here," Edith said, sitting in the chair next to Gwen.

"Not on the beach, but you can if you have one of these," Tom said kicking the iron fire brazier, over which Matthew was still fussing.

"A lot good it'll do us if we can't actually get it going," Sybil said, teasing.

"You're welcome to offer any suggestions," Matthew said, looking at Gwen and Edith.

Edith gave him a look back like he was crazy. "What are you looking at us for? Just because we're lesbians doesn't mean we know how to build a fire!"

Mary and Sybil laughed, and Matthew had the sense to look contrite. "Sorry," he said, "it's just you two are usually handier than Mary is."

"Hey!" Mary said taking offense.

"OK, then, why don't you do it, darling?" Matthew asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Because it's my hen night!" Mary said taking a drink of wine, then leaning back on the chair and closing her eyes. "I shouldn't have to do anything at all."

Sybil laughed at Mary's imperious tone.

"Do _you_ want to give it a go?" Tom said, looking at Sybil and swooping his arm over the wood. "Be our guest."

Sybil smirked walked over to the shed.

"I think we've got plenty of wood here, Sybil," Matthew said.

Without response, Sybil continued rooting through the shed for several minutes until she exclaimed, "Aha!"

"What?!" Tom said, furrowing his brow.

Sybil pulled out a paper-wrapped starter log and brought it out with a triumphant look on her face. She set it down at the bottom of the brazier and stacked the other logs on top of it. She grabbed the matches from Matthew, struck one and within seconds the starter log was burning.

Edith, Gwen and Mary all set their glasses down to clap.

"Never send a man to do women's work," Sybil said taking a bow.

Tom couldn't help but grin and grabbed her hand and pulled her down to sit next to him on the flattened out lounge chair, so Matthew could take the chair next to Mary. Matthew did so, also taking his soon to be wife's hand in the process. Gwen had stretched her legs out with her feet resting on the still cool outer rung of the fire pit, and Edith had draped her own legs over her wife's. That they would have looked like three couples to any passersby didn't escape Sybil's notice, but neither did she want to make too much of a fuss. To continue to deny—to this particular set of people especially—what she and Tom _weren't_ , would simply be to draw attention to it.

Trying to get comfortable, she lifted her legs up to sit cross-legged, draping her dress over her legs. Her right knee ended up resting on Tom's thigh. She was about to shift herself over when his left hand on her knee stopped her moving. She looked over to him and saw that he wasn't even looking at her. It was as if he hadn't even noticed what he'd done. Sybil looked away and took a sip of her wine, smiling to herself as she felt him start to trace a small circle on the fabric of her dress with his thumb. She thought about asking him stop, the motion a touch too intimate for two people who were just friends, but she liked the warmth of his calloused fingertips, which she could feel on her skin even through her dress.

"So is this when we share all the embarrassing stories?" Tom asked taking a sip of his beer, his voice taking Sybil out of her reverie.

Mary laughed. "The beauty about marrying someone that you've known your whole life is that you've seen him at his worst. I doubt there's an embarrassing story about Matthew I haven't heard."

"Oh, I don't now," Tom said grinning. "I'd be interested in testing that theory with some of the memories I have from uni."

"Any story that's worth telling he's probably told me already," Mary replied. "Honestly, Branson, nobody knows Matthew better than I do."

"Would you like to put to the test?" Gwen asked with an impish smile on her face.

"To be honest _I'm_ not particularly interested in testing how well Mary or Tom know me," Matthew said.

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun," Edith said.

"What exactly do you two have in mind?" Mary asked.

"Wait just one moment," Gwen said, standing up to go inside for a moment. Seconds later, she came back with Edith's purse, out of which she pulled a thick set of index cards tied together by a rubber band.

"I'm not sure I like the look of this," Matthew said.

"If Tom had had his way it would've been co-ed strippers, so count your blessings," Sybil said, poking Tom's side she spoke.

"Why does that not surprise," Mary said, rolling her eyes.

"It would have been tasteful," Tom said, faux-defensively. "Nothing to offend your prudish, aristocratic ways."

"You like to tease Mary about her upbringing," Matthew said. "But the truth is Mary is more adventurous than any of you give her credit for." He pointed to the whole group with his beer bottle as he spoke.

"Matthew!" Mary exclaimed, a slight blush coming over her cheeks that set the rest of the group laughing.

"Oh, come on, darling, we're among friends," he said tugging on the hand he was holding so she'd lean over and kiss him, which she did reluctantly but with a smile.

"Besides," Matthew added as they settled back in their seats, continuing to hold hands. "There's nothing wrong with pointing out you've loosened up thanks to me."

"Aw, drink to the couple!" Gwen said raising her glass, with Edith, Sybil and Tom all following suit. "We should make that a rule—anytime Matthew and Mary kiss everyone else drinks."

"We'll be sober all night, then," Tom said. "For as long as I've known them together, these two are like kissing cousins when it comes to public displays of affection."

"Tell me about it," Gwen said, lolling her head back. "It's the Crawley way—this one's no different," she added, knocking Edith's leg with her own.

"Well, we _are_ kissing cousins," Mary said.

"Not by birth, thank the merciful lord," Matthew said, kissing only Mary's hand this time.

"Does kissing the hand count?" Sybil asked, her wine already on the way to her mouth.

"Yes! Cheers!" Tom said, clinking his bottle to her glass.

Again, everyone drank.

"You know my being a prude isn't a bad thing," Mary said pointedly. "I wish more people in the world were prudes."

"I hate the word prude," Sybil said. "As much as I hate the word slut. Who cares what people like to do in private or public? And I hate the way the face puckers when you say it, too— _pruuuuude_."

Tom looked at her and laughed. "You don't like puckering your lips?"

"Not to say that word, no," Sybil replied.

"I actually agree with Mary," Edith put in. "I swear when I came out all these people in my life—parents included—thought I was going to go on this sexually deviant streak and wanting to shag every woman they knew right in front of them. Meanwhile, I'm thinking, Why in the world would I want to do that?! I'm still the same person. Why would anyone who knows me think being gay would change the fact that I think affection should happen in private?"

"But your parents are OK with you now, aren't they?" Tom asked.

"Yes, but only because it's Gwen," Edith answered. "They've known her since she was a baby."

"That Edith is a Crawley makes it easier on my parents, as well," Gwen said. "So I guess it was just meant to be."

Edith smiled and lifted her hand to tuck a hair of Gwen's behind her ear. Then, without preamble, the two leaned in for a short, sweet kiss. When they'd pulled away, Gwen pointed to the group triumphantly, "Drink!"

The other four laughed and did as ordered.

"Hey, I want to have this kind of power!" Sybil said, and grabbed Tom by the collar and pulled him toward her to give him a quick peck on the lips. "Drink!"

Everyone laughed and again did as ordered.

"And here we thought you were just _friends_ ," Gwen teased.

"Can't we get into the spirit of things as well?" Tom asked. "It's not really fair if you get to order us to drink and we can't retaliate."

"Let them have their fun," Mary said.

"Anyway, we'll be taking bets on how long the 'friends' thing lasts before too long," Matthew added.

"So both of you are ending up with people you knew from childhood?" Tom said, looking back and forth between Edith in an effort to change the subject.

Sybil laughed. "Well, in fairness, Gwen was _my_ best friend growing up."

"I did know her, though," Edith said. "And I had a massive crush."

"No you didn't!" Gwen said, rolling her eyes. "She always says this."

"It's true!" Edith insisted. "It was you coming out that made me realize _I_ was gay. Or at least that there was a reason I was so comfortable with the idea of liking you and so not comfortable with the idea of liking boys."

Gwen narrowed her eyes, looking at Edith. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Edith said. "And like I said, Gwen being who I loved made things less . . . well, _foreign_ to mum and dad. If I'd come out to them and told them I was with a woman I'd just met, who knows what assumptions they'd make about her."

"That's probably in my case too," Mary said. "They always loved Matthew, and knowing that made harder for me to cling to any fear I had about being with him. It was nice not having to worry about whether they would approve or not."

"A concern I've never been burdened with, thank goodness," Sybil said playfully.

"Which is probably why _your_ childhood sweetheart isn't here right now," Edith said. As soon as she did, of course, an awkward silence came over the group. Edith grimaced, and quietly uttered, "Sorry," looking at Sybil.

Sybil shrugged noncommittally. "Tom— _what's his name_ turning out to be a selfish prick of a boyfriend wasn't mum and dad's fault. We don't see eye-to-eye on much, but I won't blame them for that."

"What's his name was your childhood sweetheart?" Tom asked quietly.

"No!" Sybil said, becoming exasperated that this had become a topic of discussion. "We were friends—good friends, but just that—and trying to be more was thoroughly ill-advised and just caused the whole thing to implode. He wanted me to the 'The One,' and I wasn't. That's a ridiculous notion, anyway, that there's only _The One_. Can we please talk about something else?' or play this silly game you two have been talking about."

"Darling?" Mary said leaning over to Matthew.

"Wha—"

Mary quickly cut him off with a kiss and then raised her wine glass like a scepter. "Drink!"

After everyone had done so, she looked over at Sybil and winked. Sybil smiled, grateful, as ever, for a sister whose thoughtful social graces knew no end.

As Gwen began to explain the "game" they'd be playing, Sybil looked down and noticed that Tom's hand was no longer on her knee. She bit her lip, then, nudged him gently. When he looked over at her, she looked at him pointedly then shifted her eyes to her now bare knee as if to chastise him for how bare it was now. He smiled and put his hand back where it had been and turned his attention to Gwen's instructions.

His smile widened, when he felt Sybil's hand settle on top of his.


	13. Chapter 13

 

"OK, this one's for Matthew. When and where did Mary have her first snog—and I don't mean a peck on the cheek at age six or something, I mean her first proper full-on had-to-wipe-the-spit-off-your-face-afterward type of snog?"

Matthew laughed at Gwen's question, then took a sip of his beer as he thought about his answer. They'd been at this for a good hour or so, with Gwen, Edith, Sybil and Tom taking turns asking Matthew and Mary questions from the deck of notecards that Gwen had brought out. Each got a point for a correct answer to a question about the habits, feelings and experiences of the other. The eventual loser, the group had decided, would run into the ocean in his or her wedding day garb after the ceremony the next day. To this point, Mary held a slim lead over Matthew, and the questions had been, thus far, fairly innocuous.

"What's her favorite dish to cook?"

Scrambled eggs. Point for Matthew.

"What is his pet-peeve?"

People walking too slowly on the sidewalk. Point for Mary.

"What did she want to be when she was a little girl?"

Matthew guessed dancer, but Edith and Sybil corrected him simultaneously, "Queen of England."

"Who was his first celebrity crush?"

Sofia Loren. Point for Mary, and clarification from Matthew that despite her age—even when he was a boy—she had "good eyebrows," which led to a long digression on what physical attributes everyone found attractive.

The alcohol they'd all consumed made every anecdote longer and funnier with each sip of beer or wine, so the conversations between the questions and answers meandered pleasantly.

Having been friends only with Mary and Matthew before Hawaii, Tom was a relative newcomer to the tightly knit family unit, but you could hardly tell. Gwen especially got a kick out of his sometimes bawdy sense of humor, and whenever she laughed at anything he said, she'd glance at Sybil with wide eyes as if to say, _I like him!_ This was amusing to Sybil for two reasons. One, Gwen never liked the guys she went out with, a fact that had been especially true of Tom Bellasis and got worse as that relationship went on. And two, Tom Branson was already doing well enough endearing himself to Sybil without her best friend's prodding. They continued to sit close together on the lounge chair, leaning into each other and stealing touches here and there, sometimes wishing they were alone again and sometimes grateful for the company of two couples to both laugh at and admire.

It didn't take Matthew long to answer Gwen's question. "Too easy," he said. "By the old ruins at Downton on her fourteenth birthday."

Edith laughed. "I remember that day! Mum and dad plan this massive party, and Mary disappears in the middle of it for half an hour, so I'm sent to check every room in the house to find you, but instead I end up catching Sally Winthrop and Nelson Sharp half naked in one of the guestrooms. I thought that was so rude of them, I sent for Carson to kick them out. Nice to finally know where you were after all these years."

Mary laughed. "All through school Sally hated you and she never said why."

"Well, I hated _her_ ," Edith said with a roll of her eyes.

"All right," Gwen said, "point for Matthew."

Matthew lifted his beer and took a celebratory drink.

Gwen picked up the next card to hand it to Edith. "Now, Mary—"

"Wait!" Sybil cut in. "I want to know who you were snogging!"

"That wasn't part of the question," Mary said with her nose in the air.

"And anyway, she probably didn't tell him that part," Tom said with a wink, leaning into Sybil. Sybil laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, enjoying his warmth amid the cool ocean breezes blowing around them.

"She didn't tell me, but I know who it was," Matthew said with a smirk.

"Were you spying on her?!" Edith exclaimed.

"Good heavens, it was Matthew!" Mary said, smacking Matthew on the back of the head.

"What are you smacking _me_ for?" Matthew asked, turning to Mary with a laugh.

Mary shrugged. "She's too faraway."

"But you didn't _like_ Matthew back then—not like that," Sybil said. "If I remember right, that was the Percy Gray era. I read it in your diary."

Mary gasped. "You what?!"

Sybil shrugged guiltily and took a sip of her wine. "I was a very curious eight-year-old."

Tom laughed. "You weren't reading very closely if you missed the entry on her first snog."

"I suppose—though I pay greater attention to detail when I read now," she said jabbing him with her elbow. She was referring to his book, of course, but no one else knew that and merely assumed she was flirting for flirting's sake—and to be fair, there was some of that going on between them too.

"So you were each other's first real snog? That's sweet!" Gwen said.

"The question was about Mary," Tom ventured. "You're assuming that snog was Matthew's first too."

"Do you know better?" Sybil asked, genuinely curious.

"No, he doesn't," Mary said. "Of course, I was Matthew's first kiss."

Matthew turned slightly away from her and scratched his head.

"Wasn't I?" Mary prodded.

Matthew grimaced. "You were the first voluntary one."

"Oh, nobody forced you," Edith said, rolling her eyes.

"What do you know about it?!" Mary said shooting up out of her chair.

Edith's guilty look was its own answer. "It was a truth or dare game, and neither of us knew what we were doing," Edith said finally, trying to placate Mary after Matthew gave Edith an annoyed _thanks for that_ look. "Look, nobody had a gun to our heads, but I'll admit there was your garden variety peer pressure."

"How could neither of you have ever told me!" Mary said looking between the two of them.

Tom laughed. "And you thought you weren't going to learn anything new about Matthew tonight."

"It was a few months before your birthday," Matthew said, pulling her back down onto her chair. "I'd have forgotten all about it by now if I didn't know Edith."

"Who dared you?" Mary demanded.

"Are you going to sue them?" Matthew teased.

"Maybe," Mary huffed, while everyone else laughed.

"I barely remember—actually, no, I think it might have been cousin Freddy," Edith said.

"And where was I?" Mary asked.

"Likely somewhere pining over Percy," Sybil said with a giggle.

Mary sighed. "I suppose that's true," she relented. "He was better looking than Larry anyway."

Sybil huffed. "Why do you have to bring that prat into this?" For Tom's benefit, Sybil added, "He was Percy's younger brother and my first snog—it was horrible. Like a tonsillectomy."

Tom laughed. "Excellent use of medical imagery."

"Mary, if it makes you feel better, I didn't like snogging Matthew," Edith said. "In fact, I found it so awkward and unpleasant, didn't kiss anyone else for years after."

"Glad it's such good memory," Matthew said sarcastically.

"It's nothing personal," Edith said, smiling. "None of my experiences with boys were good."

"Oh, that's not true, you told me you liked kissing Thomas Barrow," Sybil said.

"I liked the flavor of his lip gloss," Edith said. "And he was gay as well, so kissing him was different from kissing straight boys."

"So your orientations canceled each other out?" Tom asked jokingly.

Edith laughed. "I suppose—or rather, he wasn't really trying and neither was I because we both knew he liked boys. At the time, I thought I did too."

"So it was your as yet unmanifested homosexuality and not terrible kissing on my part that made it so bad?" Matthew asked.

"She's a lesbian, darling," Mary said matter-of-factly. "Born that way, so it _was_ her and not you. Besides, what do you care now? You can't have thought it was better than with me."

Matthew smiled and kissed Mary's cheek, which was flush from the alcohol. "Well, no, but neither are you allowed to be upset considering you only wanted to kiss me to practice for someone else, which"—here Matthew turned to the rest of the group—"she made very clear when we did it."

"Aw, that's not very nice, Mary," Tom said.

"I didn't want him getting any ideas about me being his girlfriend, so I needed to set parameters."

Her use of the word _parameters_ made Tom laugh heartily. "A family trait it seems."

"What exactly does he mean by that?" Gwen asked Sybil pointedly.

"Nothing!" Sybil responded, jabbing him in the ribs again. "There's nothing wrong with parameters, and anyway Matthew agreed."

Matthew nodded. "I did, but only because I was in love with her. I figured if she never returned my feelings at least I got a good snog in.

"You weren't in love with me," Mary said, rolling her eyes and standing to get back into her own chair. "You had a crush, that's different."

"If you say so, but even if it wasn't before that kiss, it was certainly love after."

"If you say so," Mary repeated.

"I do say so," Matthew replied. "Just because you refused to acknowledge it back then doesn't make it false."

"I wasn't your only _voluntary_ kiss, as you call it, neither was I your first and only shag, so, really, how in love could you have really been?"

"I'm good at compartmentalizing," Matthew deadpanned.

"This one still denies I liked her early on, too—as you've already heard once tonight," Edith said, knocking Gwen's legs.

Tom laughed softly and said, "Acknowledging someone else's feelings puts the onus on you to reciprocate or reject, and when you've not made up your mind or don't feel ready to do either, it's easy enough to pretend feelings aren't there."

His tone was jocular, but even so, the weight of the sentiment stilled everyone. Sybil wondered whether his acknowledgement of the walls Gwen and Mary might have put up in the past was actually intended to shine a light on the one she was trying to keep up to keep him out. He didn't look at her as he spoke, but she felt the hand that was still resting on her knee squeeze it slightly. Sybil considered his words and found them oddly comforting. It was funny to think about Mary and Gwen, two people so sure of themselves, as once having been as apprehensive about letting someone in as she felt now. But then, youth had been their excuse.

"You were teenagers," Sybil said quietly, after a moment of reflection. "I'm well into my 20s and can barely articulate how I feel about coffee let alone love. Edith and Matthew should excuse the skeptical parties for questioning your certainty."

"Why do you suppose that is?" Gwen said. "That being sure about who you love comes so naturally to some people but not to others? When I realized I was gay that muddled as many things as it clarified."

"I don't know," Matthew said, "but I wouldn't say that certainty is any easier to deal with than a lack of it."

"How do you mean?" Mary asked him, tugging on his hand and interlacing her fingers with his. "Are you saying being so sure of your love for me was a curse?"

Everyone laughed. "Your words, not mine," Matthew said, teasing and causing everyone to laugh again.

He leaned over and kissed Mary. "Honestly, though, there's a sort of freedom in feeling confused. You can dwell in confusion. When you feel something strongly as a young person, it's really hard not to idealize it beyond recognition. If that happens, it's not really love any more, but rather a burden on both of you."

"So you're saying that it was because you loved me that you went out with other girls?" Mary asked.

Matthew shrugged. "Yeah. I know it's weird but—"

"No," Sybil cut in. "It's healthy. There's waiting for someone hoping they'll give you a yes someday, and there's waiting for someone _expecting_ them to . . . you can love someone without it completely defining who you are, because then it'll take over who they are too, and not in a good way." Sybil looked around and saw all eyes on her, so she added more quietly, "That was my experience, anyway, with what's his name. Matthew did it right."

In that moment, her sisters realized, perhaps for the first time, how wearing it had been on her to be the object of Tom Bellasis' attention, far more needy and undivided than Matthew's attention had ever been when it came to Mary. In Tom Branson's eyes, which also looked deeply into her as she spoke and after, when hers met his, Sybil saw something different—understanding and affection. She only held his gaze for a couple of seconds, overwhelmed by the torrent of feeling her candor had released in her. She looked down and wished she could step away briefly and collect herself. Next to her, Tom sensed that the heaviness of the moment was getting to her and said, "Nah, I reckon he just wasn't a very good shag is all."

The laughter (and a bit of relief) that erupted was such that tears fell on several faces, including Sybil's.

"That's a bit mean," Edith said, still giggling and wiping her eyes.

"No, he's right," Gwen answered, also laughing. "Orgasms do make certain transgressions easier to overlook or forgive. Misguided puppy love would no doubt make the list."

"So would insisting that the telly be on when you're doing it, apparently," Sybil added.

Tom laughed, glad that she had appreciated his attempt at humor and had responded in kind.

"Ha! You told her about Edna!" Matthew asked.

"Wait that's in reference to you?" Gwen asked Tom. "Was it porn?"

Tom laughed. "No, that I might have been into . . . well, if it were good porn. Mostly, it was random romantic comedies and the occasional episode of East Enders."

"No judgment, I suppose," Gwen said, "but really, people get off on the weirdest things."

"Actually, I don't think it was even about that. More like she didn't have time to do everything she planned to do that day and it was a way of multi-tasking."

Sybil laughed. "So she got off on efficient time-management. I can respect that."

Tom laughed and knocked his shoulder against hers. "Can you?" He asked teasingly, his eyes full of something Sybil had already recognized as desire. She looked away with a blush, and Tom added, "Yeah, Edna was definitely a Type A personality."

Mary huffed, "So am I, and I'd never stoop to doing something so ridiculous. That's what smartphones and personal assistants are for."

Sybil laughed. "So Anna schedules sex for you two?"

Matthew winked playfully. "She always finds a way to pencil me in."

After more laughter from everyone, Edith turned to Gwen and asked, "We're losing focus here, love, what's the next question?"

Gwen pulled the next card from the stack and handed it to Edith who laughed as she read it. "All right then," Edith said, "for Mary, how old was Matthew when he masturbated for the first time?"

Before Edith had finished her question, Mary stood up quickly. "Who needs more wine?"

"Oh, come on," Sybil teased, "you're glass is not even empty."

Mary rolled her eyes and proceeded to finish the rest of her drink in one long gulp. "Anyone else needed a refresher?"

"Actually, I do too," Edith said lifting her own empty glass into the air.

"She's just trying to get out of answering," Gwen said.

"I'm not answering ridiculous sex questions, buy if you want a shot at persuading me, shouldn't you encourage me to drink more?" Mary asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Gwen laughed. "Well, yes, but we support informed consent—even if we're only dealing in naughty questions."

"Why don't I just bring the rest of it out here," Tom said, standing up and moving toward the glass doors to the suite. "I'm sure we can find something to keep the beer cold."

"I'll come with you," Sybil said, following.

Edith giggled. "Isn't that just so sweet of you?"

Sybil turned and opened her mouth to say something back, but Tom came up and grabbed her from behind, playfully putting his hand over her mouth. "It is _very_ sweet of her, and when we come back, we'll be ignoring all cheeky suggestions about what we've been doing when it takes us fifteen minutes to go get a bucket of ice."

"You need fifteen minutes to bring a girl to orgasm?" Gwen asked with a laugh.

Sybil pulled down his hand and answered for him, "He added in time to actually go get the bloody ice."

"Well, you're on the bloody clock," Gwen answered back as the rest of the group laughed and Tom pulled Sybil along.

Once they were inside, Tom let go of her and went over to the kitchen to root around the cabinets for an ice bucket. Sybil watched him for several minutes until he noticed she wasn't helping him. He smiled when their eyes met and said, "Sorry about what I said."

Sybil furrowed her brow. "Sorry for what?"

"The joke I made about, um . . . well, what's his . . . your ex-boyfriend."

"Oh." Sybil smiled and walked up to him. "It's OK. I suppose there's a measure of truth in it, but the underwhelming sex was just a reflection of everything else. He wasn't a bad guy, just . . ."

"Just not the guy for you," Tom finished for her.

Sybil nodded. Tom picked a bit of lint out of her hair, but as he went to draw his hand back Sybil grabbed it, took it in hers and interlaced their fingers.

"I'm not really sure why he keeps coming up, but it's not because he's on my mind."

Tom shrugged. "You don't owe me any explanations, Sybil."

"I just . . . I like you," Sybil said quietly.

He grinned in surprise.

Sybil smiled bashfully in response. "Yeah, I said it."

"Well, you don't have to do anything until and unless you are ready. The last thing I want is to crowd you."

"You're _not_ crowding me," she responded. "I'd tell you if you were."

"Good."

"As odd as it sounds, it felt good to get some of that off my chest," Sybil said.

"We're talking about relationships, and he's your most recent one. I get it."

"Good."

They looked into each other's eyes for another minute, before Tom said, "We probably should hurry it up with the drinks."

Sybil sighed. "Probably."

Eventually they found a cooler, and Tom offered to go get the ice from the machine down the hall while she took out the rest of the beer and wine from the fridge. When Tom came back, they put everything in the cooler, save the red wine and what was left of the whiskey. They were hunched down, kneeling on the kitchen floor as they worked. Once finished, as Tom moved to stand, Sybil—unable to stop herself—grabbed his shirt and pulled him back down so she could kiss him. The force with which she pulled him surprised Tom, though, and he lost his balance and ended up falling and knocking her down beneath him in the process. Conveniently, their faces ended up close enough that a kiss immediately followed, cancelling out the laughter that had erupted as they fell.

Despite the cold, hard surface beneath them and despite the fact that their friends were waiting for them outside, Tom and Sybil lost themselves in the kiss and didn't come up for air until Edith cleared her throat loudly and they looked up to see her standing over them. She'd come into the suite to use the loo, but changed course after seeing two pairs of legs sticking out horizontally on the floor behind the kitchen island.

"Oh, get married already!" She said before turning toward the bathroom again.

Tom and Sybil stood up and, smiling, pulled each other into another kiss.

"Would it be terribly gauche if we left the party to go to your new room?" Sybil asked, playfully tugging on the waistband of his pants.

Tom laughed. "Ah, you're glad I left now, aren't you? But, yes, I do think we're required to stay for the duration."

Sybil sighed, burying her face into his shoulder. "If we must."

A few minutes later, the group had recongregated outside, cooler at the ready, and the "game" continued.

Nobody made mention of the fact that Sybil sat herself on Tom's lap or that he kept his arms tightly around her the rest of the night.

They were all too drunk, too happy, too in love with love.


	14. Chapter 14

 

Sometime about 1 a.m. the fire had consumed most of the logs in the brazier and, as a result, began to die out. The party of six moved indoors, but in time the softness of the sofa (and preferred partners' laps) caused eyes to begin drooping.

Edith was the first to pass out, causing Gwen to declare, "She's always been a lightweight."

With several gentle—and several not-so-gentle—taps on the shoulder, Gwen woke Edith back up and the two said their goodbyes and headed back to their room.

Mary didn't last much longer after they had left. Noticing, Matthew said, "Shall we head back, darling?"

Perking up again, Mary replied, "You know, I think I'll sleep here."

"You will?" Sybil asked, lifting her head from where it had been resting on Tom's shoulder. Sybil had had every intention of getting _him_ to stay over. She hadn't anticipated that pre-wedding superstition would decide to hit her sister at this late juncture.

"Matthew's not supposed to see me on the day we're getting married until the wedding itself!" Mary whined—a sign to both her fiancée and sister that she was very well drunk.

Tom laughed. "I hate to break it to you, Mary, but it's been the day you're getting married for a couple of hours already."

Mary frowned. "I suppose it has, hasn't it?" She paused for a moment, which caused her eyelids to begin drooping again.

Matthew smiled and took it upon himself to go over to her and lift her up out of the chair. The act woke her up again. Mary smiled and snuggled her head under Matthew's chin, closing her eyes again. "Bedroom's that way, darling," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mary, I'm taking you to _our_ bedroom," Matthew said gently. "I think we've imposed on Sybil long enough."

"Oh, please, like she can't go shag Tom in his new room. Come, darling, just leave me on the bed, and I'll see you at the altar tomorrow."

Matthew looked over to Sybil and Tom, who'd stood when he had and who were both a bit embarrassed at being called out by Mary and also amused by her drunken antics.

Sybil sighed. "Go ahead. I'll stay with her and make sure she's all right for the wedding. I daresay if she doesn't look or feel her very best she'll make good on her threat to kill us all."

Matthew laughed and went in to the bedroom, laid Mary down gently, kissed her on the forehead and came back out to the front room, closing the door behind him.

"Are you sure you're OK with her staying here?" Matthew asked Sybil. "She can be handful when she's like this."

"Oh, I'm well aware," Sybil said with a roll of her eyes. "But it's no trouble, really. You should get some rest, too."

Matthew smiled goofily at them both. "I'm getting married today!" A surge of emotion came through him and manifested as a sheen of tears that quickly clouded over his eyes, taking him by surprise and causing him to laugh. "Wow, I don't think I've ever cried tears of joy before—I didn't actually believe that was a thing!"

"You deserve it, mate," Tom said, stepping forward and patting him on the back. Tom looked back at Sybil and smiled. But there was now something else in her eyes that he couldn't quite place—that hadn't been there just seconds before.

Sybil herself would not have been able to say what it was just then, but in witnessing her reserved sister happily snuggle into the arms of the love of her life and witnessing him, usually so even keeled, lose himself in the happiness of the moment, Sybil understood the thing that she had never had, had never felt and—after years of trying and failing to will it into existence with someone with whom she was not meant to be—had come to believe herself incapable of having. And for some reason, the misery and insecurity that she'd vowed to be rid of when she was rid of _him_ , that she'd all but forgotten in one afternoon with a man with whom she did connect, began to creep, slowly back into her psyche. She was still smiling, but inside she was a muddle of emotions, which the alcohol was not helping to clear up.

Matthew collected himself, gave warm hugs and kisses to both (yes, both) Tom and Sybil and parted.

Now alone in the front room, Tom and Sybil stood a few feet apart and looked at one another for a long moment. It was too late for awkwardness between them. After Edith had discovered them kissing in the kitchen, they'd more or less done away with the pretense that they weren't keen on one another. Still, there was a thickness in the air between them now that didn't feel entirely easy. There had been a safety in numbers with the other couples present that was now gone.

It was Tom who spoke first. "I can stay if you'd like a bit of company," he offered.

Sybil glanced back at the door to the bedroom. Suddenly, telling him to stay felt like a bigger admission than all the ones she'd made over the course of the evening, with regard to her budding feelings for him. Especially now that the feelings were so much bigger and overwhelming than they had felt even moments before.

"I should really make sure she's OK," she said after a beat. "Mary can be a bit belligerent when she's pissed. She's likely to wake in a few minutes and excoriate me for letting her drink whiskey."

Tom nodded. He frowned slightly as if trying to contain something inside him. Sybil watched him as he looked around the room, then back at her. His eyes were open, _revealing_ , in a way they hadn't been before. Gone was the confidence that had exuded from him since they'd met. He looked almost scared.

"You know," he said quietly, "if you want to dial things back a bit, especially with tomorrow—er, later today, with your parents around. It's OK."

Sybil bit her lip. "Do _you_ want to dial things back?"

"No!" Tom laughed at himself and the urgency of his response. "No. I just, um, tonight's, um, you and I and social lubrication . . ."

"What?" She asked, her brow furrowing at his sudden inability to articulate himself.

Tom rubbed his face with his hands, as if trying to sober himself up to speak. "I just mean, today you said at several points that you only wanted to be friends, but there was kissing and holding and maybe that was just because we're drunk and we were with two other couples."

"Tom—"

"I really, really like you, Sybil, but I don't want to confuse things further."

Sybil swallowed a lump that hard formed in her throat. "Um, OK."

"I guess I'm saying that I won't hold you to anything we did tonight—or this afternoon—if that's still how you feel. I've been cocky and cavalier about it, but honestly, I'm not sure how much I can reign it in if there's a line that's always going to be there."

"What are you saying?" Sybil asked in a small voice.

"I think that if we're going to be friends, maybe that's all we should be. No benefits." He laughed uneasily for a second, then added, "Other than, you know, friendship."

Sybil smiled for a moment at his reference to what he didn't now they'd both said— _friendship is a benefit_ —but she couldn't help but feel the sting of what he was implying.

_This is what you want_ , she thought. _He's being a good person and giving you want you want._

She wrung her hands a bit. She wanted to say something to contradict him—to affirm once and for all that staying friends would be a terrible idea because she might actually explode. But her mouth felt dry and her tongue heavy. It was as if she was caught in a nightmare in which she was screaming at the top of her lungs to get him to stay but he couldn't hear her.

Realizing that she wasn't going to say anything, Tom let out a long breath, then said, "OK."

He smiled sweetly at her—as if letting himself indulge in it for the last time—then walked to the door, opened it and, with a small wave, walked out.

The click of the closing door seemed to take Sybil out of the moment, and she quickly went chasing after him.

"Tom?" She called out as soon as she opened the door.

Having stopped just outside the door to collect himself, he hadn't gone far. "Yeah?"

Sybil's heart might well have broken at the tiny trace of hope she could hear in his voice. She walked up to him and pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned eagerly. After a minute, she pulled away and said, "Good night, and thanks."

Tom smiled. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Sleep well," he said, and with that he turned to go. Sybil kept her eyes on him until he turned toward the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.

Stepping back into the suite, she leaned against the door and let out a long sigh as she slid down to the floor. "You are the world's absolute dumbest person, Sybil Crawley."

"I wouldn't say dumbest—just a bit emotionally stunted."

Sybil looked up to see her sister leaning against the now open doorway to the suite's bedroom. A still bleary-eyed Mary smiled and took a couple of steps toward Sybil, but moving made her remember how woozy she felt. Putting one hand on her stomach and the other on her forehead, she said, "Bloody hell, Sybil, why did you let me drink whiskey!?"

Mary gingerly walked over to one of the stools on the kitchen island and sat down, putting her for head down on the counter. "Ugh, why did I drink so much?"

From her spot on the floor, Mary heard Sybil laugh lightly. Mary lifted up her head again to say something about how one should not laugh at one's sister on her wedding day, but when she looked over at Sybil, she saw that Sybil had buried her face in her hands and her shoulders were shaking. Sybil wasn't laughing. She was crying.

"Oh, darling, what's wrong?"

Sybil didn't respond.

"Please tell me and we'll fix whatever it is, so you can take care of me so I'm not hung over tomorrow."

Sybil brought her hands down from her face and actually laughed this time, wiping the tears coming down her cheeks.

"I'm afraid I am beyond fixing," Sybil said with a sigh.

Mary rolled her eyes, gathered her strength and stood up. After several steadying breaths, she walked over to the cupboard, took a couple of glasses down and filled them with water and then went over to Sybil, sitting down next to her and handing her one of the glasses.

"Why did you get out of bed?" Sybil asked after taking a sip of her water.

"Things were spinning," Mary said between drinks. "I need to sober up a bit or I'll be a mess in the morning."

"I'm sorry I'm not being of more help."

Mary took a deep breath and another long drink of water. Then, she looked at Sybil in the eyes and said, "There's nothing wrong with you, Sybil. Maybe your situation needs fixing, but there's nothing wrong with _you_."

Sybil offered a sad smile. "Thanks." Lifting up her water, she took a long gulp. "Well, the situation is that I'm wrong about everything."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "For example?"

Sybil sighed. "Before everything happened between us, Tom used to say—Bellasis, I mean, not Tom Branson. Dear God, why the fuck do they have to have the same name!" Sybil threw her head back against the door in frustration.

"Don't do that, darling, it makes my own head hurt," Mary said, bringing her hand to her temple.

"Sorry, anyway, _Bellasis_ used to say all these ridiculous things about love and how you would just _know_ when it happened. You would just be sure that it was real and not lust or mixed up chemicals in your brain or something. I would reply by saying that it was all basically bollocks. Because, honestly, Mary, how can it make any sense at all to know someone for a single bloody day and know that you love him. It's fucking illogical." Sybil stopped for a moment and rubbed her face with her hands.

She looked back up to Mary and continued. "Our relationship not working out was like the fates proving me right because no matter how hard you try with someone who, on paper, is perfect for you, if you can't fall in love with your childhood best friend whom your parents love, then obviously, love must be bullshit, right?"

Mary smiled at the pleading tone in Sybil's voice, suddenly realizing where her sister's long rant was going to end.

"So in the process of being right," Sybil continued, "I break up with him and break his heart. And I hated doing it because I knew that I was breaking his heart, but I took comfort in the fact that I was right about love and he was wrong and that he would get it eventually and forgive me, and we could go back to being the kind of friends that we used to be."

"Except he wasn't wrong," Mary said quietly.

" _I_ was wrong" Sybil said, covering her face with her hands again and collapsing into sobs. Mary wrapped her arms around her and pulled her into a hug. "He was right and I was wrong," Sybil went on through her sniffles, "and the reason I know is that I'm in love with Tom Branson. A guy I met _yesterday_. But I know, OK. I just bloody _know_. Just like he said I would. I know with every fiber of my being."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. Five minutes. Before Matthew left he started crying he was so happy—"

"He did?" Mary asked, a sweet smile coming over her face.

Sybil smiled. "He did, and Tom looked at me as he was doing so, and I just . . . _understood_ why Matthew was crying. Then he left and Tom said he couldn't just fool around with me with no strings, and even though I let him go, I know being just friends isn't what I want either."

"And you're really sure?"

"Weirdly sure. It's disconcerting."

Mary shook her head. "Don't be silly, darling, it's a good thing!"

"Then why am I so scared!"

"Because loving someone is a scary thing. Look what happened to Tom . . . Bellasis, I mean—he got his heart broke."

Sybil looked at Mary aghast. "That's not funny!"

Mary smiled. "OK, that was a low blow, but that's the point. Tom Bellasis did a lot of things wrong, but he tried to love you, and it didn't take. But that's not a fault of _yours_. Not every relationship is going to be _the_ relationship. In fact, if we're lucky, the right person comes along only once, but we don't know if the one is _the one_ unless we jump in. He took a risk and he was wrong, but just because relationships fail doesn't make them not worth the effort. And it certainly doesn't make the people in them failures. We all have to try. We'll be wrong more often than we're right, but we have to keep trying because once you get it right, it'll make everything else worth it."

Sybil sat up and looked at Mary skeptically.

"You're sweet to have internalized so much of his heartbreak, but that's not healthy, Syb. He'll get over it, and so will you. You _have_ , actually, you just need to let yourself try again."

Now calmer, Sybil took a deep breath. "I still can't believe he was right all along."

"Eventually, you'll be happy that he was, and you'll thank him."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "If he ever agrees to be in the same room with me—especially now . . . Tom, you were right, just not about me."

"It'll be good for him to hear," Mary insisted.

Sybil smiled. "You must be feeling better if you're dispensing so much good advice."

"I am," Mary said, "but I still need sleep."

Sybil stood and held her hand out to help Mary up. Walking into the bedroom, Sybil turned down the comforter for Mary, who sat on the edge of the bed to finish her water. Sybil found a T-shirt for her to sleep in and went into the kitchen to refill Mary's water glass while Mary changed out of her clothes.

Once Mary was tucked in, Sybil kneeled next to the bed, "Are you going to be OK?"

Mary nodded, her eyes already closed. "Room 917. Go."

Sybil smiled, kissed her sister on the forehead and with her heart in her throat, went off to find the man she loved.

Yes, _loved_.

**xxx**

When Tom finally got to his room, he felt like he had sleepwalked through the entire hotel. After coming in, he flopped down unceremoniously on the bed and, turning himself over to look up at the ceiling, said out loud, "You are the world's absolute dumbest person, Tom Branson."

He still wasn't sure what had made him say what he had to Sybil. It wasn't like she was the first girl he'd fooled around with, with no strings attached. In the past, he'd been perfectly willing to participate in the "shag now, ask questions" later approach without all that much thought to the consequences. Even this afternoon, he had embraced the possibility even though he knew that's all it was.

Why was it suddenly different?

Was it a bizarro sense of chivalry prompted by how vulnerable she still seemed after what had clearly been a painful break up?

No.

Tom knew deep down that as much as he understood and respected that Sybil was still a bit on the mend, he'd done it primarily out of self-preservation. Sybil had sparked something inside him, and the longer he was around her the more unprepared he felt for the feelings that accompanied the desire that had welled up in him. He'd told her repeatedly that it was all in good fun and that he'd be happy taking his cues from her. But as the night progressed, he realized that pretending he wasn't falling in love with her would only get harder and more painful. After he'd all but admitted to her that his confidence was something of a false veneer, he made the long, lonely walk back to this room, this spot.

_Maybe the island will just swallow me up_ , he thought.

Feeling something of a headache coming on, he went to the loo and drank some water. He looked at himself in the mirror and laughed.

"A sad case," he said.

After brushing his teeth, Tom dressed down to his boxers, carelessly leaving the clothes in his wake as he walked back into the main room. He lifted the comforter from the bed but stopped for a moment before climbing in. He let out a long sigh. Sleep wasn't going to come easy. Dropping the comforter, he walked over to the armchair where he'd left his laptop, started it up and opened a new blank document.

Not sure where inspiration was coming from, given his currently frustrated feelings, he began to type. He wasn't sure how long he'd been at it when he heard a light knock at the door. The noise was so quiet, he wondered whether he'd imagined it, but as soon as he'd convinced himself that he had, he heard it again.

_Who the feck could it be at this hour?_

He set his computer down and walked over to the door, opening it without bothering to check who it was.

"Hi," Sybil said as soon as he opened it.

Tom was floored. With brow furrowed, he looked around and down the hall to see if anyone else was out. "Is there a fire or something?"

"No," she replied. "Unless you mean the fire in my heart," she added, laughing at herself as she said the words.

Tom started to smile, but couldn't help but be confused by the odd turn of events. "What's going on, Sybil?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Of course," he said, shaking his head as if trying to clear the fog and stepping aside for her to come in.

She looked around for a moment, then sat down on the bed. Tom stayed standing by the now closed door.

Sybil met his questioning eyes and sighed. She was hoping that merely showing up would be enough. That he'd just _know_ , like she did, and they'd fall into bed and that would be that.

"So, I was talking to Mary," she said finally, "and it turns out that when you fall off the horse, as they say, you're supposed to get back on, which, let's be honest, doesn't really make a whole lot of sense."

Tom shrugged, unsure as to what she was trying to say.

"Will you come sit?" Sybil said, putting her hand out next to her.

Tom stepped forward and in the process realized that he was still in his underwear. He picked up his discarded shorts and slipped them on, not noticing Sybil smile as he did so. When sat down, he put his hands on his knees, as if doing so would keep them from touching her, which is what he desperately wanted to do.

"So . . ." he said, with an airy laugh.

"I wish I hadn't let you leave like I did," she said. "I suppose what you said threw me."

"I was just trying to be honest. I don't think being only friends with you would be as easy as I was trying to make it out to be—certainly not easy on me, anyway."

"Nor me. That was just me being afraid of things. And stupid."

Tom cleared his throat and looked down. "Sybil, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask that you spell it out because I'm rather prone to wishful thinking, and I don't think I could handle thinking that you mean one thing but really mean—"

Tom was interrupted, but Sybil grabbing his face in her hands and pulling him in for a kiss, one he returned for several seconds before pulling away with a goofy smile that spoke of hope and longing and needing to be reassured. If Sybil hadn't been sure before, she was in that moment.

"I mean I don't want to be just friends."

Tom threw his head back in relief. "Oh, jaysus, thank you!"

Sybil laughed as he grabbed her and pulled her fully on the bed. After kissing and tickling and fooling around for several minutes, they caught each other's eyes and stopped short.

"Are you sure?" Tom asked in a whisper.

Sybil smiled serenely and nodded, pulling him into another long, deep kiss. Eventually, pulling away she said, "Do you mind if we just go to sleep. I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit too overwhelmed for anything else."

"Me too."

"But in a good way, right?"

He smiled and leaned in for another kiss. "In the best way."

Sybil slipped off her clothes and sank into the pillows. Once she was comfortable, Tom settled just next to her, with his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her so the top of his head was just below her chin and his arm was around her waist and his hand tucked between her back and the bed.

Sybil had never felt more comfortable.

**xxx**

The following morning, after what was by all accounts a lovely ceremony, for which both Matthew and Mary looked their absolute best—certainly their mothers would never have guessed how much either had drunk the night before—the whole family walked over to the beach for pictures and so Matthew could make good on the promise to run into the ocean in his suit, having lost the "newlywed" game.

He was a good sport about it, and Mary even let him give her a wet, sloppy kiss afterward. As they walked back toward the hotel restaurant for the celebratory meal, they snaked through the pool area. Too happy to care about her reaction, Matthew took Mary into his arms and jumped into the pool with her before she had a chance to realize what he was doing. The entire party (and a few other guests, who happened to be nearby) laughed to the point of tears. Mary was incensed for a good long minute, before she realized she, too, was too happy to be bothered. So when Edith offered a to help her out, Mary only pulled her sister in. Sybil and Tom looked at each other and without words, snuck up behind Gwen to push her in. Then, they grabbed each other's hands and jumped in together.

The wedding feast was delayed for about an hour and everyone save the "grown-ups" ate in shorts and T-shirts, but it truly was a celebration of life, family, friends and love.


	15. Chapter 15

 

In the days that followed the wedding, everyone gave Mary and Matthew a wide berth, so they could properly enjoy their first few days as a married couple. For the most part, in fact, all the Crawley family couples more or less found ways to entertain themselves according to their interests. Robert and Cora enjoyed the resort's amenities, especially the golf course. Isobel and Richard took in some of the local sights but did not veer as far off the beaten path as Gwen and Edith, who took several long hikes to see Kauai's more remote nature trails and waterfalls. Sybil and Tom's explorations focused primarily on each other—physically and emotionally speaking. Sybil actually felt like she was on something of a honeymoon herself.

Embracing a relationship with Tom Branson, it turned out, was very easy. She was having more fun than she'd ever thought she would with a man, and she felt more relaxed, more . . . _herself_ than she'd ever felt. He'd moved back into the large, ocean-side suite with her, continued to spoil her with the best sex of her life and proved with every conversation that he was the person she'd always been waiting for, not just because he was funny and intelligent and caring, but also because underneath the cocky bravado was someone as scared and vulnerable and full of self-doubt about life as she sometimes felt. But where Sybil's insecurities manifested in her personal life, Tom's did in his professional life.

He'd confessed to Sybil that the charade about his true primary source of income felt like a lie he was drowning in but that he was paralyzed between coming clean to those he loved and remaining buried in the deception, however innocent it was. The fact that he could be open and honest with her about his writing and his dreams offered an intense measure of relief that Sybil could see in his eyes when he spoke. It made her feel good that she could be the person in whom he could confide with no reservations. Indeed, the more time she spent with him, the surer she was that being together was what they _both_ needed. It was an odd feeling, to be so certain of her feelings for someone and to feel so good about herself in the process of accepting those feelings. She understood now, what people meant when they said that making someone you love happy makes you happy. Every cliché about love she'd ever heard and sneered at, it fact, was like a revelation now.

And worst of all—irony of ironies—in Sybil's mind, her relationship with Tom Bellasis was now something that had been necessary, part of a longer journey that brought her to the point at which she was ready to be in love. How could she have recognized the feeling of being in love, after all, without first experiencing loving someone without being in love with him? So far as Sybil could see, the former would have been harder to recognize and attain without the latter. She didn't know that Tom Bellasis would ever want to speak with her again or do so without thinking that she was the worst kind of hypocrite, but even so she wanted to repair their lost friendship. And she could only wish with all her heart that, in time, he would be as grateful for the time they had spent together, even the heartbreak they'd had to endure, as she now felt.

As the week's end grew near, London and the prospect of returning to life as normal began to loom in everyone's minds. Sybil was even more excited about what her new life would bring, now that she knew Tom Branson would be a part of it. Still, that didn't mean that she wanted to leave the pocket of paradise they'd been living blissfully in for the last few days. When she'd said as much to Tom on their last night before everyone was to fly back to England, he surprised her with his answer.

"We could stay longer."

They were laying cuddled together on one of the lounge chairs on the patio, having settled there after dinner with the whole family. They were meant to be packing, but before they even made it back into the suite, Tom pulled her down onto the chair and Sybil happily fell into his arms.

"No, we can't," Sybil said.

"Why not? You don't have a job to go back to, and I'm a freelancer, so there's no boss to answer to."

Sybil sat up to look him in the eye. "Are you serious?"

Tom smiled. "Of course, I'm serious!"

"But the fact that I don't have a job is something I need to look to sooner rather than later."

Tom shifted, so they were both sitting up and facing each other. "I'm not saying we should settle here indefinitely, but in the grand scheme of things, what's another week?"

Sybil thought for a moment. She rather liked the idea of being with Tom here without having to hold back in front of her parents, who remained blissfully unaware of her sudden closeness with Matthew's best man. "We'd have to find a new place to stay because this ocean-side slice of heaven suite would certainly not be free for a second week."

"Well, that goes without saying," Tom replied. "So we'll find a dumpy little bed and breakfast—that would be more to your taste anyway, wouldn't it?"

Sybil smirked. "Know me so well already, do you?"

"I think I do, actually," Tom said with a confident smile.

Sybil crossed her arms. "So what am I thinking right now?"

Tom sat back and tapped his chin with his finger. "Hmmm, you're thinking,"—and here Tom began to speak in an English accent that sounded as posh as he could make it—"'The fittest, wittiest, most interesting man in the world has just asked me to stay another week with him in Hawaii, and I really want to, but I also don't want to neglect my responsibilities. And yet, how could I possibly be expected to make a decision when all I want is for him to pick me up and carry me to the hot tub and do that thing that he did yesterday that made me scream like an absolute mad woman?'" Back in his normal voice, and looking into her eyes again, he added, "Well, if you insist."

Sybil was in stitches throughout his soliloquy, so she didn't have much of a chance to respond before he finished, picked her up and carried her exactly where she wanted to go.

Thirty minutes later, they were in the hot tub—which was still littered with the rubber duckies Tom had bought—both looking well satisfied and pleased with themselves.

"A dumpy B&B wouldn't have a hot tub like this," Sybil said, her arms draped over his shoulders as she sat astride him on his lap.

Tom laughed. "I'd miss it, but I think we could survive without the five-star luxuries."

Something about his choice of words gave Sybil pause. She thought for a moment, then said, "Do you really think we could survive without any of this?"

Tom's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Back in dreary London, without the benefit of warmth and king-sized beds and the romance of a wedding?"

"Do you think, we're only responding to the current context?"

Sybil shrugged. "You've got to admit, it's helped things along."

"Has it?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm asking."

Tom sighed. "Well, you and I meeting was inevitable, with us being so close to Matthew and Mary. The fact that we met here is only coincidence. I suppose bunking with you hastened things a bit, especially on that first night when you invaded my bed."

Sybil smiled and rolled her eyes at his cheeky emphasis of the word _invaded_.

"And there's that bloody terrific bikini of yours," Tom continued with a wink, causing Sybil to laugh again, " but I don't know . . . I think I would fall for you just as hard in any context. I'm betting you look amazingly sexy all wrapped in a winter coat and scarf with only your eyes visible beneath the woolen hat that would likely be absolutely inadequate at holding down your mess of hair."

"Hey!"

Tom laughed. " _Beautiful_ mess of hair."

Sybil laughed, then bit her lip. "You really think so?"

Tom nodded. "It might have taken longer in London, but aren't you glad it didn't have to take longer?"

Sybil smiled and nodded. Then, she leaned in for a long, languid kiss. When she pulled back she said, "Let's stay another week."

So they did. At the end of it, when they were on the first of several planes home, Sybil told Tom their time together in Hawaii had been easily the best two weeks of her life.

His reply, "And just think, it's only the beginning."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned at the start, this story was inspired by 500 Days of Summer, but told from the perspective of the girl (Summer/Sybil). You don't have to have seen the movie to understand what is happening, but if you have, this chapter is where girl's story I'm telling meets back up with the boy's story that we saw in the movie. Specifically, in this chapter, Sybil and Tom Bellasis' conversation before Imogen's wedding and the wedding itself parallel the conversation that, in the movie, happens on the train on their way to the wedding that they attend in the movie.

Two days after Sybil had finally made it back from Hawaii with Tom, Gwen and Edith had come over to help her finish unpacking. Tom had offered, too, of course, but Sybil knew exactly how productive the two of them were likely to be— _not at all_ —so she asked that he only show up at the end of the night with take away for them all to enjoy. Having procrastinated about it since she'd first moved in, Sybil was now determined to get her flat organized by the end of the weekend, so she could hit the ground running on her job search the following week. Tomorrow would be taken up entirely by the train ride up to Downton, then York and her friend Imogen's wedding. She'd spend the night at Downton and wouldn't be home again until Sunday afternoon. But with Gwen and Edith's help she'd made good progress, and now that the evening was nearing, her bedroom was just about all that was left. Edith—ever the neat-freak—had offered to clean out the fridge, and was still at that while Gwen and Sybil were putting the last of Sybil's clothes away and strategizing as to how Sybil could this mark new phase of her life she was about to embark on.

"You should have a party!"

Sybil, who was standing hanging clothes in her new flat's closet, threw Gwen a skeptical look. "I hardly have any friends in London."

"All the more reason," was Gwen's easy reply.

"And who exactly would I invite?"

"Well, Edith and myself, Tom— _obviously_ —Mary and Matthew, and . . ."

Sybil cocked her eyebrow. "And?"

Gwen frowned. "Do you honestly have no friends here?"

"Well, I have you."

"All right, well, we'll have to bring reinforcements."

"You can invite Anna, Mary's assistant. She's nice."

" _I_ can invite her?"

"If you want me to have a party, you best plan it yourself."

"If I must," Gwen said with a dramatic sigh.

Sybil smiled and turned back to her task.

"So you haven't said anything about how the second week with Mr. Perfect went."

Sybil laughed. "He's hardly Mr. Perfect."

"Oh," Gwen said sounding intrigued. "You've found nicks in the armor already?"

"Nobody's perfect, Gwen—and if you think they are that says more about you than the person."

Gwen laughed. "A sage on all things love, after two weeks in love, are you?"

Sybil turned to Gwen. "I know for a fact that there are things that irk you about Edith."

"Like what?"

Both Sybil and Gwen turned to see Edith standing at the door with her arms on her hips. Sybil laughed, and looked to Gwen to respond.

"Nothing serious love," Gwen said in an appeasing tone, "but you know you can be rather particular about things."

Edith narrowed her eyes. "Well, I have my own complaints about the amount of space I've had to give up in what was supposed to be our library for your 'gaming system.'" This last was said with Edith signaling her distaste with finger quotes.

"Yeah, there's a habit I absolutely 'love,'" Gwen replied sarcastically doing the same with her fingers around the word _love_.

"This is precisely what I'm talking about," Sybil said, stepping in before things escalated between Edith and Gwen. "And why there's no reason to call Tom Mr. Perfect."

"So what annoys you about him?" Edith asked.

"Well, he likes to leave his clothes everywhere if the state of our hotel room was anything to go by and he is terribly full of himself," Sybil said with a laugh, "It's amusing most of the time, to be honest, and obviously on some level I found it attractive."

"Ugh, not for me," Edith said, scrunching her face in distaste. "Male bravado is the very opposite of what attracts me."

"Oh, so Gwen is all soft corners and docile and feminine?" Sybil asked with a laugh.

"She's a woman, which is the key element in the equation."

"Plus, you don't know what I'm like in the bedroom," Gwen said with a grin.

"And that's where this segment of the conversation ends!" Sybil exclaimed.

"Yes, please!" Edith followed up looking pointedly at Gwen.

"Posh girls are all the same," Gwen said with a sigh.

"My only point was that a man's ego is just not worth stroking if you ask me," Edith said.

"He's really not that bad," Sybil said. "I suppose I'm making that aspect of his personality sound worse than it is. The truth is for all his bravado, he's surprisingly self-conscious and insecure about—"

Sybil stopped short, realizing that what she was about to reveal was still a secret, and not one that was hers to share. Gwen and Edith didn't miss a beat, though.

"About what?" The both said at the same time.

"Nothing, never mind."

"Do you have secrets between the two of you already?" Edith asked.

Sybil shrugged noncommittally. She knew that of all people in her life, Edith and Gwen were the least likely to judge Tom for making a living as a romance novelist, instead of a journalist, as he told everyone—indeed, they would likely love him all the more for it. Still, it wouldn't be fair to him to reveal it before he was ready.

But the subject wasn't ready to be done with just yet. As Gwen finished emptying Sybil's suitcase, she noticed the now slightly worn copy of The Jewel of York on the nightstand.

"Hey, you never said whether you liked this," Gwen said, tossing the book on Sybil's bed.

Sybil turned to see what she was talking about and felt a blush coming over her cheeks. "I quite liked it, actually," Sybil said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. "I was surprised by the ending," she added after a moment's pause. "But after thinking about it,"— _and talking with Tom about it_ —"I decided it was actually perfect."

"Wasn't it, though?" Gwen said. "We're so programmed to expect romances to end with marriage to the supposed love of her life as the only possible happy outcome for the woman. But for Meara, all the men who wanted to marry her were just trying to _subdue_ her, so instead she used her wiles to do the very same to them. And when her childhood love finds her, you think she's just going to fall into his arms again, but instead he gets just how much he doesn't know her."

"They still end up together, though, sort of," Edith offers.

"Yes," Gwen continued, "but she doesn't have to compromise who she is in the process, and he falls in love with who she really is and accepts what she has to give him, which doesn't include her independence. Trashy romance is just never that intellectually satisfying. Even when the sex is good, you have to bear down through the rest of the typical sexist bullshit. Honestly, if I could meet the author of Jewel, I would totally kiss her on the mouth."

Edith smacked Gwen lightly on the arm. "Hey!"

"You know, _as a friend_ ," Gwen said with a laugh.

Looking at one another, both Edith and Gwen missed the twinkle in Sybil's eye. "What makes you think that the author is a woman?" she asked.

Gwen shrugged. "In this genre most of them are. It's not that it couldn't be a man, of course. But if a man were to write this kind of book, he'd have more leeway with regard to how it was marketed without having to worry about being relegated to a niche audience."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Sybil asked. "That a man who wrote something like this wouldn't be forced into the genre also?"

"Well, for a start," Gwen said. "Men don't self-identify as romance novelists because such a title is considered insignificant because romance is supposedly only for women. The audience is devalued despite our obvious buying power. Romance novels make money, but as long as women are their primary readers, its authors will be considered as less important than quote-unquote real novelists. A male writer would never self-select into a lesser niche. Even if the work was a romance by every definition."

"So you don't think a man would choose to write for women?" Sybil asked.

"History hasn't given us many—men who write about women and men who write in order to tell women their business, yes, but men who write because they want to entertain us, not so much."

Sybil smiled. To hear Gwen speak, in finding Tom, Sybil had won the veritable lottery. Turning back toward her closet to hide her impish smile, Sybil asked, "Would you still want to kiss T.B. Nightingale on the mouth he were a man?"

Gwen thought for a moment, then smiled. "Oh, sure, why not? Any bloke so thoroughly feminist is OK to kiss in my book."

"Good to know," Sybil said.

"If we may move on from romance novels," Edith said, "are you looking forward to Imogen's wedding?"

"I am, actually," Sybil said. "Tom —the other one—is best man, so it'll make for an interesting evening. I mean . . . I do want to talk to him. Clear the air a bit."

"Well, be careful," Edith said.

Edith's words and tone gave Sybil pause. "Why? Do you know something I don't?"

Edith and Gwen looked at one another again, which Sybil did not miss.

"OK, you obviously know something," Sybil said. "Please tell me."

"It's nothing really," Edith replied. "Aunt Rosamund had dinner with his parents last week is all. Didn't have very many good things to report. And I wouldn't expect a Christmas card from them this year either."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "I hate people who can't keep themselves out of their children's business. Do they honestly think they're doing him favors by gossiping about him and knocking Sybil to Rosamund?"

"Trust me, I am not losing sleep over it," Sybil replied curtly. After a moment, she added, "I do wish that I could fix things with Tom somehow, though. I'll do my very best tomorrow, but I suppose he has to meet me halfway."

"He does," Gwen said. "But if he choses not to, that just as well, Syb. Everyone says they want to be friends after a break up, and I don't doubt you mean it, but it's not an aspiration that meets with success very often. If it doesn't work that doesn't really make you a terrible person."

"Or him, really," Edith added gently. "I get what you want, Sybil, but he wanted something from you before, and you couldn't give it to him, so be prepared for the opposite to be true as well."

Sybil thought about Edith's words for several minutes. It hadn't exactly occurred to her that the situations were similar—he wanting love and she not being able to give it vs. she wanting friendship and he being too heartbroken to offer it—but she supposed that on some level it was true. She'd given in and ended up resenting him for it—why wouldn't he feel just as bitter when she pushed for something that he couldn't give. Still, she hoped that time would help heal what she'd broken. If she, of all people, could find love, then surely someone who was looking for it so earnestly as Tom Bellasis would eventually find it too.

Not ten minutes later, as the girls continued chatting idly about this and that, the jingle of keys in the front door knob alerted them that Tom Branson had arrived with their dinner.

"He's got a key!" Gwen said, poking Sybil on her side as the three headed towards the front of the flat.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Oh sod off, he's my boyfriend!"

Edith laughed. "Leave her alone, love. You know when she curses like that it means she's really happy."

"I come bearing curry," Tom said as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Thank you," Sybil said quietly, pulling him into a hug and a brief kiss after he'd set the containers down on the counter.

Edith and Gwen both smiled at the display and at how happy and at ease Sybil seemed. Where public displays of affection had always embarrassed Sybil previously, now she couldn't care less.

The foursome enjoyed their dinner, and continued planning the party that according to Gwen was going to be "epic." By the time they were all done, it was past 9 o'clock, and after helping pick up, Edith and Gwen were on their way. Tom didn't stay that much longer. Despite a strong desire for him to do so on both sides, Sybil had decided that in order to leave early and on time in the morning, it would be easier if she got ready on her own and without distractions. Early morning sex was quickly becoming her favorite thing about their relationship, and if she really meant to patch things up with Tom Bellasis and ease back into their group of friends, if only for one night, she couldn't very well show up late to the ceremony because she was too busy shagging her current love to bother to leave on time.

"You ready for tomorrow?" Tom asked as Sybil walked him down the steps of the walk-up to the sidewalk.

Sybil sighed. "As I'll ever be I suppose."

Tom turned when he got to the bottom. Sybil lingered on step above him, the better to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into her.

"Should I be worried?" Tom asked after a long kiss.

"About?"

"Fires rekindling?"

Sybil pulled away slightly, but kept her hands on his shoulders, as his remained around her waist. "I won't even dignify that with a response," she said with a smirk.

Tom laughed, and Sybil felt chills as his chest shook against hers. "Well, it's not like I can blame the guy for being heartbroken over losing you."

Sybil frowned and looked down.

"I'm sorry," Tom said, lifting her chin with his hand. "I'm teasing mostly, and I didn't say that to shame you or judge you or anything. I just . . . if . . . well, if he felt half of what I feel—I know how I would feel if you left me, is all I'm saying."

Sybil stopped his train of thought with a soft kiss. "It's different with you," she whispered, after pulling away.

"Yeah?"

Sybil nodded. "I didn't understand what it might be like for him before I met you. Now, I do. That's why I want to make sure he's all right. Or that he's going to be anyway."

Tom smiled, and went in for one last kiss before finally stepping away. Sybil stayed on the stoop watching him, and after he'd gone about twenty feet, he turned around again. "Just so that it's clear, when I say I know how I feel, what I mean is I love you."

Sybil smiled and felt a pull at her heart unlike any she'd ever felt before. "I love you too."

They were too far away from each other to see the tears in each other's eyes at the declaration. But they didn't need to see them to know they were there. With another small wave, he turned and was gone.

**XXX**

The following day, train ride up north was uneventful. With time to spare, Sybil made it to Downton Abbey to change. Her parents were out when she arrived, but they made it home just as she was heading to the garage to borrow Robert's Range Rover to drive back into York for the wedding and were very clear that she'd be joining them for Sunday breakfast the following morning to answer their questions about Tom Branson.

To say that they'd been shocked when Sybil announced that she'd be staying behind with him in Hawaii for another week would be the epitome of British understatement. Sybil promised her mother a full accounting of her feelings when she got back to London, but so far she'd successfully avoided all of Cora's calls. Apparently, she and Robert would not be put off any longer. Sybil wasn't afraid of explaining her feelings, but she knew that they would have a harder time than her sisters in understanding why a relationship of two years, with someone they knew and loved, had gone nowhere, while one that was only two weeks old already meant everything to her.

Sybil arrived at the church early—so early, in fact, that after parking she walked over to a coffee shop across the street for a caffeine fix and to kill some time before the ceremony. After paying she sat down near the window and watched as the crowd began to gather outside of the church. She recognized a number of her old colleagues from her nursing job and realized as she sat sipping her coffee just how removed she now felt from a life that she was thoroughly ensconced in just months before.

As she was taking another sip from her coffee, the door to the shop opened and in walked Tom Bellasis, catching eyes with Sybil momentarily. It happened so fast that Sybil for a moment convinced herself that she'd imagined his face on someone else simply because he'd been on her mind. But her eyes lingered on the man's back as he ordered coffee, and his silhouette, along with the timbre of his voice as he ordered, was unmistakable. As he waited for his drink, he turned to look over his shoulder, as if to confirm to himself whether she was who he thought she was when he'd spotted her coming in, but almost as soon as their eyes made contact again, he turned back around.

After the barista served him, he lingered on the counter for a moment. Sybil knew that he was bracing himself for the walk back to the door, which would require looking in her direction once more. She didn't know, in the moment, what possessed her to do so, but before he turned again, she called out to him.

"Tom?"

He turned back to her quickly with a look of surprise on his face. "Oh, wow, Sybil, cheers!" He exclaimed approaching her. "Must have walked right by you."

Sybil saw right through it. She wondered whether he honestly believed that _she_ would believe that he had not recognized her but decided not to make hay of it. The encounter, before either was really ready for it, was going to be painful enough as it was. "Yeah," she said simply.

"So . . . you're here for the wedding, then?" He asked, sitting down across from her.

Sybil nodded, watching him as he fidgeted with the lid of his cup.

Tom scratched the back of his head, unable to contain his nervous energy. Part of Sybil wanted to reach out to grab his hand and tell him to calm down, as she used to. But it was no longer her place—and she was afraid that he'd recoil at the gesture. She appreciated his effort at friendliness, but she'd known him long enough to know that he wasn't sure what to feel just then. She also wondered whether she was as open a book to him as she still felt he was to her.

"I guess I . . . didn't expect," he said after a moment. "I forgot you were really all that close with Imogen."

Sybil shrugged. "Well, we . . . worked together all that time. I saw her a few weeks ago, and she said I could still come even though . . ."

She hadn't wanted the first acknowledgement of their relationship to come out quite that way, but the words tumbled out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying.

"Even though you're not my plus one?" He offered tentatively, a tight smile coming over his face.

Sybil bit her lip and nodded. _He's trying_ , she thought. _He's really trying._

Encouraged, Sybil took a breath and started to speak—and so did he.

"So—"

"How's—"

They both laughed lightly at the palpable awkwardness.

"Sorry," he said with a sigh. "Go ahead."

Sybil cleared her throat. "How've you been? I haven't—"

"Good," he jumped in, as if scared to hear too much of her concern. "I'm good."

"Good," she said. "I emailed a about a month ago, to tell you about my move to London, but, um, you didn't write back."

Tom nodded. "No, I know. It got crazy, you know? Work . . . and stuff."

"How is it? Your job, I mean?"

Tom sat back in his chair and lolled his head back as if to express his continued dissatisfaction with his firm, which made Sybil laugh. As a lawyer, Tom had rejected his father's plan to follow him and his brothers into the family business, banking, but his choice was something of a reflex, and he had felt stifled by it for a long time. Sybil had known he wasn't happy, but he'd never been motivated to change course. Sybil had often wondered when they were together if he'd have a clearer view of what would make him truly happy, if he could straighten himself out professionally—and whether that in turn would have made things easier for them.

She had no real right to advise him now, however much she might have wanted to. In truth, there was so much she wanted to say, but the wedding would start in twenty or so minutes and a lifetime didn't seem long enough to tell him all that she needed to get off her chest, so in a bit of panic, she stood.

"Well, I'll leave you to have your coffee," she said. "I'm sure you have best man duties to attend to, and I want to put my bag back in the car, and I probably should say hi to some my old hospital friends so I don't have to stand alone at the reception, and—"

"Syb?" He looked up at her from the side of his eyes, the right one in a slight wink and his lips in the vicinity of a smirk. An expression she was so familiar with it almost brought tears to her eyes. She managed to hold them back, but not the faint blush that came over her cheeks. From the moment she'd started speaking and could hear herself rambling, she couldn't stop. But looking back at him as he looked up to her was calming—calming in the way it had once been. Before. Long before.

"It's just coffee," he added, pointing his chin to the chair she had just vacated.

Sybil smiled, somewhat embarrassed, but grateful for the invitation. "Still, shouldn't you be off . . . doing something?"

"Ben's cousin kind of took over," Tom said with a sheepish shrug. "Technically, I'm still the best man and I do remain Ben's best friend, but he decided after, um . . . well, I wasn't really in the right mindset to be in charge of anything having to do with celebrations of coupledom."

"So you get to be best man without actually having to do anything?"

"More or less."

"So you should be thanking me?"

For a moment there was only shock on his face, but then he covered it up with his hands to muffle his burst laughter. "Among other things," he said, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. The sound of his laugh, the obvious relief in his posture as he sagged down onto the table, all of it made Sybil happy and ready to burst with relief herself.

After a few more minutes talking and catching up and, to their mutual surprise, laughing together, Sybil Crawley and Tom Bellasis walked back across the street to the church. He left her to join the wedding party, and she went over to greet her friends.

The wedding went off as weddings do.

Imogen looked gorgeous and squealed in delight afterward, when she saw Sybil.

Tom was his old goofily charming self.

There were drinks and dancing and laughter and good feeling.

Sybil even invited Tom to her party, which was to be in a few weeks' time.

At the end of the night, when she called Tom Branson from the comfort of her bedroom at Downton, she filled him in on how it all went and said that she couldn't believe it but it truly couldn't have gone better and that no amount of grilling from her parents was going to make her regret coming home to Imogen's wedding and to begin her road back to civility and friendship with a person she thought, at one point, might never speak to her again.

From the moment that she and Tom Bellasis had stepped out of the coffee shop together, as a matter of fact, Sybil's happiness had been such that she could be forgiven for entirely misreading the situation.

Because when you see someone who once meant a great deal to you again after a long absence, your mind can play tricks on you.

You think, _Maybe, we can be friends after all._

But he thinks, _Maybe, we can get back together._

And neither of your is the wiser.


	17. Chapter 17

 

**Three weeks later**

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon in London, two days before Sybil's big party, and she was grinning as she bounded the steps up to Tom's flat, terribly pleased with how the job interview she'd just left had gone. She and Tom were meant to meet much later that evening, but she was too eager to share her excitement to wait for him. The interviewer had all but offered her the job on the spot, and after several interviews and inquiries that had gone decidedly less well, she couldn't help but get her hopes up that finally she'd found a good fit.

The place was quiet when she stepped in. "Tom," she called out as she dropped her handbag on the sofa. She frowned when he didn't answer and walked down the hall toward his writing room. Sure enough, she could hear the clatter of the keys on his laptop as he pounded away. As she peaked her head around the open doorway, she smiled at the frown of concentration on his face. She'd learned in the last few weeks that he treasured his time alone to write and did _not_ like interruptions, particularly when he was "in the zone" as he seemed to be now. So she intended on heading back to the kitchen without a word, when his voice stopped her.

"How did it go?" He asked without looking up from his computer—and somehow, to Sybil's amazement, without stopping his typing.

"Good—brilliant, actually," she said, stepping into the room, even though he'd still not looked up. "And you? Have you—"

Tom raised his hand to stop her from talking and squeezed his eyes shut as if in an effort not to lose the thought swirling in his mind. After a long moment, he began typing furiously again.

Sybil bit her lip to contain her smile. Obviously, this wasn't the right time for a conversation. So instead of saying anything else, she leaned over him and wrapped her arms around his neck, placing a soft kiss just below his ear. Tom leaned down to kiss Sybil's arm. "Sorry," he said. "Haven't had my head this full in a long time."

"That's good, right?" She asked, squeezing a little tighter.

Tom sighed, finally stopping and turning in her arms, so they were facing one another, and pulling her down onto his lap. "I can't tell yet."

"Will it be an all-nighter?"

Tom chuckled. "Not quite. An hour, maybe two?"

"Shall I go home then? I can cook dinner and you can pop by like we planned."

"You can cook here if you like. If you can mange to find anything edible in the kitchen."

Sybil left another kiss on Tom's cheek and stood to go.

"Hey," Tom called out when she'd the door. "Thanks."

Sybil smiled. "Are you going to let me see whatever it is?"

"I've got three other books you've not read if you're really aching for reading material."

Sybil laughed and finally stepped back out of the room, closing the door behind her but not before hearing the clatter of keys start up again.

Sybil really didn't have a reason for having chosen Notting Hill over all the other neighborhoods in London to live. But she was so glad now that she'd landed here, given the short distance between her and Tom. Since returning from Hawaii, they'd spent most of their nights together, the proximity of their flats allowing them to both see each other on a whim, but not yet feel pressure to completely move into each other's spaces. Still, in this moment, exploring Tom's kitchen and preparing dinner for them while he worked, she felt comfortable. She felt almost like she was home.

It wasn't quite two hours when Tom finally emerged from his writing room. Sybil had found some pasta, olive oil, a bag of frozen vegetables and enough spices to make a decent pasta primavera. Sybil did not consider herself much of a cook, but it was enough to impress Tom who guessed that his sister must have bought all that stuff for him at some point. She often brought food with her when she came over, in an effort to help save her poor bachelor brother from himself.

"When am I going to get to meet her?" Sybil asked when he brought her up as they tucked into dinner.

"I think she's coming to the party," Tom said, "at least, she said she was planning on it when we talked last. But we can stop by and see her tomorrow if you want to meet her before. She's certainly eager to meet _you_."

Sybil smiled. "Is she going to find me very much like your other girlfriends?"

"Likely not," Tom replied.

"And why not?"

Tom shrugged. "I didn't love any of my other girlfriends—not like you."

Sybil looked away for a moment in a futile effort to hide her blush. Tom leaned over and tickled her on the side to get her to face the table again.

"I don't mean to embarrass you," he said.

Sybil narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes, you do," she said playfully. "But I don't mind."

And it was true. With Tom Bellasis, Sybil had found that each profession of love made her a tiny bit more uncomfortable than the last because each was a reminder that her own affection for Tom, however sincere, fell short of the love that she knew he wanted from her. But with Tom Branson, Sybil didn't mind hearing him telling her he loved her. From the moment he first said the words on her front stoop, it warmed Sybil all over just to hear him say them again and again, whether in the heat of passion or in casual moments like this one. She'd never been a particularly gushy girl, but she couldn't help but gush—even if only internally—over how much he loved her and how much she loved him back.

"So you don't have a type?" Sybil asked.

"I don't think so—at least, I've not given it much thought. I think if I were to try to describe my type now, I'd just describe you."

Sybil blushed again, but didn't turn away this time. Instead, she lifted her nose in the air and said, "Well, I must admit I've always had a thing for Irish boys."

"No, you haven't," Tom said, rolling his eyes.

Sybil laughed. "Ask Mary and Edith! I used to have Boyzone pictures all over my walls when I was young."

Tom burst out laughing, and Sybil couldn't help but join him.

"It's true," she said, amid her giggles.

"Well, so far as boy bands go, I have been told I look like Irish one from One Direction."

"I don't know what he looks like," Sybil responded, hiding her smile behind her fork and not meeting his eyes.

Tom winked. "Sure, you don't."

After finishing up their dinners, Tom cleaned up and Sybil made herself some tea.

While he washed the dishes, Tom said, a bit out of nowhere, "Part of the reason Maura wants to meet you is because I told her—that also sets you apart."

"You told her what?"

"That I told you about T.B. Nightingale."

Sybil turned to watch him. "What did she say?"

Tom laughed, and Sybil leaned over to see his cheeks pink slightly.

"Don't want to tell me?" She teased.

"I don't want to freak you out."

Sybil looked down and smiled, then pushed herself up to the counter to be able to look into his face while he continued to wash. "You don't freak me out."

Tom met her eyes and smiled. "I'm not so sure."

"Not anymore," Sybil said with a decisive nod. "I'll admit I still find the concept of love rather freakish, but I've come around to the idea that there is the possibility of finding someone who makes you feel less . . . _freakish_ about it."

"So I make you feel less freakish?" Tom asked with a grin.

"Yes, and you should feel very proud about that."

Tom laughed. "I do." He put the last pot on the drying rack and took the towel that had been hanging on his shoulder to dry his hands. Sybil moved to push off the counter, but Tom intercepted her. Grabbing the backs of her knees, he pulled her to the edge of it, stepping in between her legs, which she quickly wrapped around him.

Sybil leaned in for a kiss, but before their lips met, Tom whispered, "She said, 'So when's the wedding?"

Sybil smiled and responded with, "So when is it?"

Tom's brow furrowed. "Are you asking a serious question?"

Sybil shrugged. "I'm just saying it wouldn't freak me out."

Tom leaned in and placed a light kiss on her lips. "Good to know." After another kiss, Tom turned to look at the mug of tea that she'd set on the table. "How long do you reckon that tea will stay hot?"

Sybil smiled. "Five minutes. Why?"

"I guess you'll just have to use the microwave," Tom said as he pulled Sybil all the way into him and grabbing two handfuls of her backside, lifted her off the counter to carry her into his bedroom, with her laughing the whole way there.

A few hours later, they emerged from his bed. It was near midnight, but neither was in the mood for sleep. Tom felt the writing itch again and to appease Sybil for disappearing into his writing room again, he printed out what he had so far of a story he'd started writing on the night of Mary and Matthew's hen and stag night, right after he'd left her and when he still thought that friends was all they would ever be. She'd rescued him from that notion not too long after he'd started writing, but the seed of inspiration that his temporary frustration had spawned had been planted and, even after she showed up at his door, had begun to grow. It wouldn't stop growing, it seemed. While he wrote, Sybil warned up her tea again and began to read.

She didn't know how long it took her to finish, but even before she'd gotten to the bottom of the last page, she sought him out, bursting into his writing room so suddenly that Tom nearly fell out of his chair.

"Oh, God, you hate it," he said as he regained his balance.

"Hate it? Tom! This is fantastic!"

He scratched his head. "It's, um, well, it's not quite like Jewel—or the others—in that it's not historical romance. But maybe it's too different. It doesn't feel like total rubbish, but with my other books I know what the audience is so I know the expectation, with this, I can't think of who'd want—"

Sybil climbed on Tom's lap, straddling him and put his hand over his mouth. "First, Jewel is brilliant. I get why you think you should be embarrassed, but honestly you've no reason to be. You're a published writer—a successful one! The fact that your readership is made up of housewives doesn't make that success any less legitimate. The fact that you think so is a little bit sexist if you don't mind me saying."

Tom rolled his eyes and pulled her hand away. "Sybil's it's not—"

"Oh, I know you're not actually sexist, and it's your insecurity more than anything else that keeps you from accepting the fact that you're good, I just mean that you have no reason not to tell people about what you do—but that's not even my point. My point is that however you feel about your writing to this point, those books were written by T.B. Nightingale, but this? This was written by _Tom Branson_."

Tom's eyes widened at her proclamation. "What?"

"This"—she said squeezing the pages in her hands for emphasis—"This isn't genre writing, OK? This isn't you trying to pay the bills in between freelance assignments from the stingy Guardian. This is you being a writer. I'm not saying the other stuff isn't as good or has less meaning, I just . . ." Sybil paused as if trying to find the right words. Finally, she spoke again: "I want to be able to tell people, 'That book you're holding? I get to shag the author on a regular basis'."

Tom grinned in response, but in his eyes, you could tell his emotional response was wavering between laughter and tears. "I think that's the highest order compliment anyone has every paid me."

Sybil leaned down to kiss his cheek. "I mean it—well, if it's someone's gran, I'd just say, 'The author is my husband,' but you get what I'm saying. I want to brag about this, which means you can't put it in your closet with the rest of them. If anything, you should dispense with the closet or step out of it—you know, figuratively speaking."

Tom's smile faded a bit in wonderment, and after a long moment he said simply, "Yes."

Sybil smiled. "Yes, you'll tell people about your writing or, yes, you'll publish this one under your own name?"

"Yes, I accept your proposal of marriage."

Sybil laughed, but then got quiet seeing the seriousness in his expression. "What proposal?"

"You just said you wanted to call the author of my books your husband . . . I accept."

"I didn't just say that."

"Pretty sure you did, actually."

Sybil's bewildered expression softened into a smile. "Um, OK."

"OK, you accept me accepting your proposal?"

"Yes."

Tom took Sybil's face in his hands and pulled her into a long kiss. After he pulled away, Sybil said in a whisper, "Did that just happen?"

"Yes," Tom said. "Are you freaking out?"

"Yes," Sybil said, standing up, setting the papers in her hand down and closing Tom's computer. Pulling him up, with her intention clear in her eyes, she added, "but in a good way."

The next day, they went see Maura. She was the first to see the ring on Sybil's finger.

**XXX**

On the day of Sybil's party, Tom got a call from the political editor at the Guardian about filling in for a reporter who had fallen ill at the last minute and couldn't attend a Labour Party event he'd been assigned to. Tom declined, but when he told Sybil about the unlucky timing (this had been his first freelance assignment in weeks), Sybil told him to call the editor back immediately, insisting there was no reason he couldn't be a few hours late to the party. Edith, Gwen, Mary and Matthew had all promised to arrive at her flat early anyway, so she'd have plenty of support early on. And, indeed, Sybil was very glad they were all there when guests started to arrive.

It was early yet, when Tom Bellasis arrived. Sybil greeted him warmly at the door, but before they could say much more beyond pleasantries, Edith called her from the kitchen because she couldn't find the corkscrew.

"We'll talk in a bit, OK?" Sybil said, leaving him standing alone just inside the door.

When she'd said the words, she'd meant them. Her parents didn't yet know of her engagement, but Sybil knew that as soon as they found out, the family gossip chain would do the expected, the Bellasis family would get wind of it and whatever progress she and Tom Bellasis had made toward repairing their friendship at Imogen's wedding would be gone. She couldn't have foreseen that she'd be sharing news of this magnitude with him when she'd invited him to come down to London for her party, but she was glad that he'd come, if for no other reason than the opportunity to tell him in person. She considered saying something when he first arrived, but she didn't want to ambush him.

Sybil was prepared for the fact that upon hearing her news, Tom Bellasis would just leave, but she didn't plan on stopping him if he did. She would give him the room he needed to react. She just wanted the chance to be honest. What he did in response was up to him. Later, of course, after everything was out in the open, she would second guess herself and wonder why she'd left him alone for so long. But Sybil couldn't have guessed how many people would come or how many times one of her sisters would pull her from one conversation to the other or how many times she'd steal away to her bedroom to answer a text from Tom.

A little over an hour after Tom Bellasis had arrived, after wiping up yet another spill, Sybil went to her bedroom for another breather. She took her mobile out of her pocket and smiled when she saw a text from Tom Branson saying that he likely would be done soon and would head right over. She was about to start typing a response, when the door opening from the bathroom startled her. It was Gwen.

"Oh, hi, luv, mad party!"

"What are you doing in here?" Sybil asked.

"The line to the loo in the hall was too long."

Sybil laughed. "You were the one who invited all these people."

"Who knew they'd all come!?" Gwen exclaimed, sitting down on the bed next to Sybil. "Aren't you having fun?"

"I am," Sybil admitted. "Thank you for organizing it and getting everyone here. I think we're violating numerous fire codes, but it's been a laugh."

"And when I was planning, I didn't even know it was going to be an engagement party," Gwen said, knocking Sybil's shoulder with hers.

Sybil smiled and looked down at her ring, an antique setting with a square-cut sapphire in the middle and a series of tiny diamonds surrounding it. They'd found it at the first jewelry shop they'd walked into the day before. Sybil took how easily they'd found something she loved as a sign it was all meant to happen just as it did.

Watching her, Gwen laughed. "You are so done in."

Sybil sighed. "I wish I could deny it."

"Do you really, though?"

"No, not really."

After a moment Gwen said, "I saw Tom Bellasis out there. I still can't believe you invited him."

Sybil shrugged. "It was a peace offering. We got on really well at Imogen's wedding, and I didn't want that to feel like a one-off. I wasn't sure he would even show up, but I am glad he did. I want him to hear it from me."

"Well, then you should probably get on that," Gwen said pulling her up.

After the two left Sybil's room and headed back to the party, Sybil looked around for Tom Bellasis and spotted him looking around, a bit disoriented on the other side of living room and heading to the balcony. She was about to take a step in his direction, when a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Anna!" Sybil said turning toward her sister's assistant. "So glad you could come."

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it," Anna said, smiling warmly. "This is a great flat."

"Thanks, have you seen Mary? She said she wanted to make sure she said hi."

"Oh, yeah, I just did, and she told me the big news!"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, she wants you to schedule a celebratory lunch?"

Anna shook her head. "You know her too well, but I won't until you tell me when is good for you."

"I wish she'd let you have a day off!"

"No need to worry," Anna said with a laugh. "She's not as bad as she seems and pays me well enough to make up for it all, anyway."

"Well, I suppose I'm glad to know that."

"So let's see it then!" Anna exclaimed.

Sybil blushed slightly—she didn't particularly like this much attention, but she knew Anna didn't mean anything by it, so and brought her hand up.

"Oh, it's lovely—I love antique jewelry."

"Yeah, we—"

Sybil stopped short, having looked up just then and spotted Tom Bellasis again. His eyes were on her, and Anna, and her hand. There was no questioning the recognition on his face.

_Tom Bellasis spent most of the hour he was at the party standing and wondering when she'd be done doing what she was doing just then so they could finally talk properly. Though he didn't know it, his expectations of how the evening would go had been very different from Sybil's, and the longer he didn't speak with her, the more restless he got. Eventually, he felt he'd stood around long enough waiting for her to rejoin him and began to wander around her place._

_Other than Sybil's sisters, Matthew and Gwen—who had said polite, though stilted, hellos to him—Tom didn't know anyone at the party. It was a sign to him that Sybil's life was changing and that perhaps she really was leaving him behind. He began to grow nervous, wondering if he'd been wrong about her behavior at the wedding, wondering if the signals he thought she was sending him then had actually all been in his head. He went to the balcony to get some air, but that did nothing to quell his nerves. Finally, he resolved to go back inside. He pushed through the crowd of people jammed into the flat for several minutes until he spotted her—finally._

_She looked up just as his eyes landed on her and their eyes met. But the smile that was about to form died on his lips when she noticed what she was doing._

_Sybil was with a woman who seemed vaguely familiar and who was holding Sybil's left hand in a way that women only do when there's something on that hand to see._

He was off like a bullet toward the door.

"Anna, I'm sorry, but would you excuse me?" Sybil said hastily, setting off after him before Anna had a chance to reply. _No, no, no!_

He was already on the sidewalk by the time she made it to the door.

"Tom, wait!" Sybil called out running down the steps, but it was no use. He'd run down the block and hopped into the first taxi he could see. He was gone.

"Hey!"

Sybil turned and Tom—the other Tom, _her_ Tom—came bounding up behind her.

"What's going on?"

Sybil brought her hands to her face and collapsed into his arms.

"I'm a daft cow is what's going on," she said, her voice muffled by her hands and his chest.

Tom stepped back and gently took her hands to look into her face. "What's that?"

Sybil sighed. "I'm just stupid. That was Tom. My ex. I thought we were in a good place, but clearly I can't read his signals nearly as well as I thought because I've basically just broken his heart all over again."

"So he didn't take it well, then?"

"I didn't even get a chance to tell him—he just saw me, saw someone looking at the ring, and then he looked at me, and it was written all over his face."

Tom frowned. "What was?"

"At my friend's wedding? That wasn't us getting back to being friends. That was him thinking we were getting back together. Looking back, it's obvious. I don't know how I could have thought anything else."

"You were hoping for the best," Tom said with a shrug.

"I'm a daft cow."

"Do you know where he might have gone? You could go after him and explain."

"No," Sybil said. "He's likely staying at his brother's, but honestly, it won't help."

"Well, at the risk of sounding self-serving, you should probably just let it go. I don't think you do him any favors otherwise."

Sybil smiled. "You're probably right."

Tom smiled back and leaned down to give her a light kiss on the lips.

"Other than that, how's the party?"

Sybil tucked her arm into his and led him up to the flat. "Haven't you heard? It's the party of the year! Only one problem."

"What's that?"

"I have not consumed nearly enough alcohol."

Once they were back inside, the party truly began. Mary and Edith got up on chairs and led everyone there in a toast to the happy couple. Too many celebratory shots to count later, Sybil was in the kitchen in the middle of a long and loud debate between Gwen and a handful of her classmates from her doctoral program in women's studies. Sybil was so far gone, she would only vaguely remember doing this in the morning, but she heard someone mention "T.B. Nightingale" and with a giggle pulled Gwen aside and whispered in her ear, "I know who that really is."

Gwen laughed and pushed her off. "Sod off! You're always delusional when you're pissed."

"I'm being totally serious."

"Fine, then, who is he?"

Sybil leaned in to whisper in Gwen's ear again, but then pulled back abruptly. "You can't tell anyone."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Sybil—"

"Just promise!"

"All right, I promise I won't tell anyone who you think T.B. Nightingale is."

Sybil smiled impishly. "I don't think—I _know_."

"Let's hear it then."

Sybil leaned in again and whispered. "It's Tom."

Gwen pulled her head back to look Sybil in the face. "Tom?"

Sybil nodded. "My Tom."

"Sybil, that's ridiculous. I mean . . . no . . . NO! TOM BRANSON IS—"

Sybil clamped her hand over Gwen's mouth. "SHHHHHH! You promised!"

"But . . . we talked about the book in front of him!"

Sybil nodded. "I _know_!"

Gwen's eyes widened suddenly. "Oh, my God, where is he!?"

"In the balcony, but please—"

But it was too late, Gwen pushed through everyone in her path until she saw Tom talking to his sister. Without preamble Gwen ran up to him, grabbed his face and planted a wet kiss square on his lips. "I know we can't tonight," she said breathlessly after pulling away, "but we're absolutely going to talk about this at length, OK? This is MAJOR!"

And just like that she was gone again.

A bewildered Tom looked over to Maura and said, "What just happened?"

**XXX**

The following morning wasn't as bad for Sybil as it might have been, hangover-wise, partly due to the fact that Tom had insisted that she drink several glasses of water and take an aspirin before bed. When she woke it was almost 11a.m., so she'd slept through the worst of it. Looking around the flat, once she was finally up, she was pleased to find that it wasn't nearly in as bad a shape as she had expected. The kitchen was littered with empty bottles and glasses of every shape and size, and the sink was overflowing with the dirty serving platters, but the rest the flat wasn't too much worse for the wear. Deciding to put off cleaning for a little while, she went back into her bedroom, where Tom had also woken. He was looking at his mobile when Sybil climbed back into bed with him.

"So does it look like a war zone out there?" He asked pulling her into his chest.

Sybil sighed, relaxing into his arms. "Could be worse. I'll deal with it later."

"Well, I'd love to help, but unfortunately, I just got called into the newsroom."

"Two days in a row!" Sybil said, sitting up on her elbow.

"Yeah."

"You don't sound terribly enthusiastic."

"It's not a new story," he said, pushing himself up. "They're holding the one I did last night for tomorrow, so they want me to beef it up a bit, add background and such."

"Will you be gone long?"

Tom rubbed his face with his hands, then leaned back to place a kiss on her forehead. "Let's hope not, but don't expect me back until tonight. It always takes twice as long to do anything when I actually have to go into the offices."

"I can come to your flat if you like?"

"It's up to you."

"Well, after I clean up here, I was thinking I'd go for a walk. I could find myself walking in your direction."

Tom leaned in for another kiss. "Sounds like a plan."

**XXX**

A few hours later, her flat much more presentable than it had been that morning, Sybil set out for Kensington Gardens. It had been a favorite place when she was a child, it being a short walk from the house her parents kept in London. She wasn't conscious of why she'd chosen to go there on this particular afternoon until she saw him sitting on a bench that was only familiar for his hunched figure.

She approached slowly, wondering whether this was worth the trouble she might stir up. She briefly considered turning around—letting it all go, the way Tom Branson had suggested she do so last night. But no matter all the arguments for leaving well enough alone, she couldn't stop her feet from taking her to the bench and quietly sitting next to Tom Bellasis—her one-time best friend and more—without a word.

"So I should probably say congratulations," he said after several minutes of silence, not bothering to look at her.

"Only if you mean it," she responded quietly.

He rolled his eyes. "In that case . . ."

Sybil couldn't help but smile at his unrelenting petulance. "So, are you OK?"

He took a deep breath. "I will be eventually."

"Well, that's good."

"Yeah," Tom answered with a sigh. "I quit my job."

Sybil's smiled, with widened eyes. "No kidding? That's . . . that's great Tom, really."

"And you're engaged," he replied with much less enthusiasm.

Sybil bit her lip. "Loony, right?"

He finally turned to look her in the eyes. "You should have said something."

Sybil looked down, unable to hold his stare for very long. "I know."

"At the wedding," Tom added, more softly. "When we were dancing."

Sybil looked up again. "We weren't engaged yet."

"But he was in your life."

Sybil nodded, looking down again. "Yeah."

"Why'd you dance with me?"

"I wanted to."

Tom let out a humorless laugh. "You always did what you wanted, I suppose, except you never wanted to be anyone's girlfriend, and now you're somebody's fiancée."

Sybil felt tears start to sting the back of her eyes. "It surprised me too."

Tom leaned forward so he was resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't think I'll ever understand that."

"Tom—"

"No, seriously, Syb. I mean, it doesn't make sense."

"It just happened," she said, trying to keep the pleading out of her voice.

"But that's what I don't understand. _What_ just happened?"

"I . . . Tom . . . I just . . . we were sitting around a fancy hotel room the night before Mary and Matthew's wedding and I knew."

"Knew what?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Sybil took a deep breath. "What I was never sure of with you."

Tom laughed again and rubbed his face with his hands. "I'll tell you what sucks about it all, Syb. Realizing that everything you believe in is complete and utter bullshit. That sucks."

"What do you mean?"

"Destiny, soul mates, true love," he scoffed. "All that stuff, silly childhood fairy tale nonsense. I should have listened to you. You were right all along."

" _I_ was right?" Sybil said incredulously. She squeezed her eyes shut and a small tear did manage to escape, but only because of her laughter.

Tom rolled his eyes again and sat up. "What are you laughing at?"

But Sybil couldn't seem to keep her giggles under control.

Tom put his hand over his mouth, trying but failing to keep himself from laughing. "You are a total nutter! And insensitive to boot considering my pain over here."

Sybil turned on the bench to face him. " _You_ are the nutter."

"What in bloody hell are you talking about?"

"He's Matthew's best friend from uni, and Matthew apparently had wanted to set us up for the longest time. But when he mentioned it to Mary, she said not to bother because I'd just started going out with you. The very same week, actually. Then, two years later, Mary gets the still inexplicable urge to marry Matthew on the fly and Tom and I end up sharing a room in Hawaii because—"

"Wait! Did you say Tom?"

Sybil bit her lip, cringing. "Uh, yeah."

Tom stood up, put his arms out and yelled up to the sky. "KILL ME NOW! Just one bolt of lightning. Quick, painless, no one else gets hurt."

"Sit down and stop being a bloody drama queen!"

"How in the fucking world could you possibly agree to fucking marry another bloke named _Tom_?"

"Do you think _I_ like it?" Sybil said, getting agitated and raising her voice as Tom sat back down. "I HATE the fact that you have the same name, but that's the whole bloody point. When it's the right person, nothing else matters. Destiny and all the other bullshit? _You_ were right about all that not me! And it's not just me and him, but you and me as well."

"Sybil—"

"Hear me out, please!"

Tom sighed, as if signaling defeat, but didn't make a move to leave.

Taking that as a sign he'd listen, Sybil continued more calmly. "Tom is Matthew's best friend."

"You said that."

"He and I were always going to meet, but it matters very much that we didn't meet two years ago. Do you remember how it started for us? Olivia—whatever her name—from work had a birthday and invited all the nurses out for drinks. But it was early on for me at the hospital. I didn't know that many people, and I didn't want to go alone so invited you to come with me, and I drank too many vodka tonics and you went to sing karaoke and you looked so bloody adorable doing it that I thought to myself, 'I really love Tom. Maybe we should give it a go.' And we did and didn't work out, but it was still meant to happen."

Sybil stopped for a moment to wipe the tears that were now flowing freely down her cheeks. "Tom Branson and I were meant to be together, but so were you and I. The difference is that you and I came with an end-date. I didn't think so while we were together, but it _was_ meant to be, just like you said. When I realized it, I thought to myself, 'Wow! Tom was right!' You were right about everything. Just not about me being the one."

Taking a chance, Sybil leaned over and took Tom's hand, squeezing it for a moment before letting go. "When you find whomever it is you're meant to find—someone without an end-date—you'll realize that I was a rubbish girlfriend to you, and that whatever pain you think you're feeling now is nothing compared with what it would feel like if _she_ left you."

After taking a moment to wipe the last of her tears, Sybil stood. She looked down at him for a moment. She thought he might have started crying when she did, but his eyes were dry. She took it as a good sign, and without another word turned to go.

"Sybil?"

She turned back to face him. "Yes?"

"I really do hope you're happy."

She smiled. _He means it._ "I know."

With another deep breath, she turned again, and this time she kept walking without looking back.

Tom Bellasis only watched her for several seconds before standing up himself and walking away in the opposite direction. Like Sybil, he didn't know what had drawn him to that bench, that park, when he'd left his brother's flat earlier that day. He understood now what he'd been looking for, because it was the same thing she'd been after.

Closure.

Somehow, they both found it.

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

**Three years later**

"You cannot leave me at this ridiculous party by myself all night—not when I can't even drink!"

On the other end of the line, Sybil could hear Tom hold back a laugh.

"Love, I told you I would be there as soon as I could, and I'm leaving now as a matter of fact. If didn't get this contract signed today, I would have had to wait three weeks because the head of the publishing house is going on vacation to Ibiza tomorrow."

"Must be nice," Sybil replied, rolling her eyes.

Tom smiled. Even though they were only talking on the phone, he could picture the look on her face. "Well, when I cash in my advance check, we can go there too, if you like."

"I won't look very good in a bikini while six months pregnant," Sybil said.

"Oh, I beg to differ."

Sybil smiled in spite of herself. Even after all this time, Tom's sweet-talking still made her blush. "Just get here soon, OK?"

"Is Aunt Rosamund not being a good hostess?"

"She's fine," Sybil said looking around what she could see of her aunt's stately London house, which was decorated for Rosamund's annual holiday open house, from the corner in the entrance hall she'd hidden herself in to talk to Tom. "It's just everyone else that's working my last nerve touching me now that my belly is visibly pregnant."

"I told you to wear that 'Hands Off' T-shirt I bought you."

"I certainly will next time."

"Here comes a taxi now," Tom said. "I'll be there before you know it."

"See you soon, then."

Once they'd hung up, Sybil put her mobile back in her pocket and looked around at the crowd gathered in the main room of the house and considered just leaving and calling Tom back to tell him to meet her back at home. The event usually started in the early afternoon on the Friday before Christmas, and usually ran late into the evening. This year, Sybil went on her own early, with Tom planning on joining her there after he was done finalizing his paperwork at the office of his new publisher—the one that would print the first ever book on which his real name would appear.

(When he'd completed the book that began with the pages that had prompted their engagement, writing it in bits and pieces in between freelance assignments and deadlines for his next "Nightingale" book, Tom offered it to the publishing house that had released his previous novels. His editor there had high praise for it, but admitted that it didn't quite fit into the fare they usually marketed. So Tom and his agent began to shop the book around. It was a long arduous process, and when Sybil became pregnant—unplanned but not unwelcome—she and Tom began placing bets on which "baby" would come first.)

After a moment's contemplation, Sybil figured she couldn't just leave, not without some sort of explanation that her aunt would likely immediately rebuff. But that didn't mean she couldn't wait for Tom outside, and as she pushed open the front door and stepped into the cold December air, she immediately felt better. She'd only been outside a few minutes when a taxi came up, and hoping it was him, she walked down the steps to the sidewalk. When the door opened, however, it revealed two couples—three of the faces were familiar, but one was not.

It was the Bellasis family. Roger and Sarah Bellasis came out first. They remained close friends of the Crawley family and came to Rosamund's party every year, usually without any of their children. And every year, Sybil made every effort to avoid Sarah, who still seemed to hold a grudge over the heartbreak Sybil had caused her youngest son even though the son himself had long since moved past it. Sybil immediately noticed Tom Bellasis coming out of the car behind them, helping out a petite young woman who Sybil could only guess was his fiancé.

Sybil had not seen or spoken to Tom in years now, but she knew details of his life for the same reason he knew details of hers—because their families assumed they needed and wanted to know them. Sybil wished only the best for him, but she had long since stopped giving him much thought. The same was more or less true of him with her.

"Oh, hello, Sybil," Sarah spoke, as they approached her, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Hello," Sybil replied, smiling a smile she hoped didn't seem as disingenuous as it felt.

"What in the world are you doing out here?" Sarah asked. "Smoking in your condition?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Mum, Sybil's not smoking. She's never smoked."

Sarah snorted. "How would you know? Maybe she's taken it up recently."

"I haven't," Sybil said.

"Well, we'll be going inside," Sarah said lifting her nose in the air and walking up the steps to the door. Her husband followed, but not before smiling meekly at Sybil and saying, "Best wishes, dear," and pointing at Sybil's swollen abdomen.

Sybil smiled back at him then looked back at Tom and the girl, who hadn't moved to go inside themselves.

It wasn't awkward exactly, but neither Sybil nor Tom really knew what to do or say. Tom's fiancé, keenly aware of who Sybil was, looked back and forth between them with an expression that Sybil could only describe as deeply amused.

"If it's of any comfort, she doesn't like me any better."

Sybil, a bit taken aback by the young woman's frankness, looked into her eyes and open smile and found nothing but sincerity.

"She never did like any of her boys' friends, even when we were kids," Sybil replied.

"Oh, that's not fair!" Tom spoke up.

"Please," his fiancé said, "I've heard it all from your brothers' wives already, and here's your childhood sweetheart confirming it. You should be glad your mother loves you, even if jealously so."

The reference— _childhood sweetheart_ —gave Sybil a second's pause, but she couldn't stop herself from laughing in agreement.

After their laughter had died down, the girl spoke up again. "I'm sorry, I know your name, but you don't know mine! I'm Emily Willis, soon to be Bellasis."

Smiling, Sybil shook her hand and replied, "I'm so pleased to meet you Emily. And congratulations and best wishes."

"You as well!" Emily said excitedly. "How far along are you? You must be so excited!"

"It varies between excitement and abject fear," Sybil said, "but I've a bit to go yet. I'm twenty-six weeks."

Emily bit her lip and glanced at Tom quickly before leaning in and whispering, "I'm nine weeks."

Sybil eyes widened in shock as she turned from Emily to Tom. "What!?"

He nodded, pressing his lips together trying to contain a smile. "But please don't tell mum!"

"That's brilliant!" Sybil exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "She'd never believe me if I did anyway—she'd say I was just trying to besmirch your good name."

"In his defense, he did propose before we found out. I actually think that was the night we conceived."

Tom raised his hand to scratch his forehead, clearly embarrassed. "Darling, I don't think Sybil wants to know that level of detail."

Emily laughed. "Oh, who cares, you're friends now." Then she added, "Speaking of, I'll let you have a brief catch-up while I go inside to the loo—don't you just hate having to go every five minutes?! It was truly lovely to meet you, Sybil."

Before either one of them could stop her, Emily bounded up the steps and went inside.

"She's lovely!" Sybil said, turning back to Tom.

He blushed slightly and looked down. "Yeah, she's great."

"Are you looking forward to being a dad and husband at the same time?"

"It varies between excitement and abject fear."

Sybil smiled. "You'll be brilliant at both."

Tom stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked up at the door. "I should go in before she gets too lost in the crowd."

Sybil nodded but made no move to leave her spot.

"What _are_ you doing out here anyway?" Tom asked after taking a step.

"Waiting for my other half."

"Do you want company while you wait?"

Sybil smiled but shook her head. "Go look after yours. When I come back in I'll tell her where Aunt Rosamund hides the non-alcoholic cider."

Tom laughed and then went in.

The door had barely closed when another taxi pulled up to the curb. This time it was the Tom who Sybil had been waiting for.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, he could see that she was in a much better mood than when he'd hung up the phone a short while ago.

"Hi," she said brightly.

"What's come over you since we spoke?" he asked amused, leaning down to give her a kiss, first on the lips then on her belly.

"I've just decided," she said as he straightened back up, "that everything in my life is just about perfect."

Tom smiled and putting his arms around her, pulled her in for a longer, deeper kiss. After, he kept one arm around her as they went back into Rosamund's and said, "I couldn't agree more."


	19. Chapter 19

**Seven years later**

Almost as soon as they'd set their bags down at the beach-side bungalow they'd rented for a week, in honor of their anniversary, Sybil went for her swim suit and practically ran out to the water. It was late evening, but the sun was still visible over the horizon and Sybil wanted to catch it before it dipped into the distant water. She swam out past the breakers into calmer waters and immediately felt herself relax as she emerged, squeezing the excess water out of her hair. She took a deep breath and smiled, remembering the last time she had been here.

 

_"Gorgeous, don't you think?"_

_"Indeed."_

_Sybil turned to see that Tom was looking at her, and rolled her eyes (but couldn't help but smile at his flattery). "I'm talking about the sunset."_

_"The sunset's nice too," he said with a smile._

_Sybil turned toward the horizon once again to see the sun, now a small orange dot, continue to sink down into the sea. She felt Tom swim up behind her in the water and snake his arms around her waist. She sank into his embrace, leaning her head back into his shoulder. "If someone had told me months ago that this is where I would be now, I'd likely have punched them in the face."_

_Tom laughed. "What?"_

_Sybil turned in Tom's arms and ran her hands up his chest and around his neck. "When I ended things with my ex, it came out of nowhere. He said something that irritated me, and I just blurted it out. I hadn't been planning on it. I was . . . in this bubble of complacency with my life. I was unhappy but not particularly motivated to do anything about it. I don't really know what made me say it."_

_Sybil looked down, and Tom watched her. He could see that she had more to say, so he waited until she was ready. Finally, she said, "I know we'd have met eventually. With you being so close to Mary and Matthew . . . I'm glad it happened the way it did, so that I was ready for you when I met you."_

_Tom leaned down and kissed her slightly on the lips. "I thought you were going to say, 'So that I could be here to watch this sunset'."_

_Sybil grinned. "The sunset's nice too."_

_After another long kiss, Sybil pulled away and said, "I think I'm ready to go back inside again."_

 

Sybil didn't know how long she'd been standing there, when she felt Tom swim up behind her.

"Does it look just like you remember?" Tom asked, watching Sybil stare into the distance where the sun was becoming a small orange speck hovering over the horizon.

Sybil smiled looking at Tom. "I suppose the cliched thing to say is that it looks smaller."

"Does it?"

Sybil shook her head. "Maybe not as bright as it looked to a girl in her twenties, but then everything is brighter when you're young and in love." After a pause, she added, "The view has aged well, I'll say that." With a smirk, she turned to him and draped her arms around his shoulders.

"What I remember about this view is that while I was watching the sunset, you were looking at me, so the real question is, 'Does the view look like _you_ remember?'"

"It's aged well," he answered, deliberately teasing her, and couldn't help but laugh as Sybil huffed and pinched him on the side.

"Says the man who practically had a meltdown when the hair on his temple started graying."

"Well, if I'd said you look more beautiful now, which I happen to believe is true, you would have just rolled your eyes at me."

Sybil smiled. "Fair enough."

"Are you glad we came back?" Tom asked. "Other than having a week's peace from Saoirse and Michael, I mean."

Tom had laughed lightly when he mentioned their sweet but rambunctious kids, but Sybil could also hear the serious note in his question. "I am. Are you?"

Tom nodded. "It's hard for me to believe so little time has passed."

Sybil's eyes widened. "So little! It's been a decade! I can't believe so much time went by so fast."

Tom thought for a moment and Sybil watched what seemed like a thousand emotions come over his face all at once. To this day, she loved him as fiercely as she did after the magical two weeks that had launched their relationship on this island, and one of the things she loved most was how he still wore his heart on his sleeve.

"I don't know," he said finally, "when I think about who I was then—I mean the guy who traveled here by himself. I can barely recognize him. To me, well, I can't believe it's been only ten years because that feels like another lifetime altogether. Back then I actually thought I could keep up the charade of T.B. Nightingale until I died. Now, I can't believe I even bothered with it."

Sybil smirked, remembering how embarrassed he'd felt when he'd finally come clean to his mother, who had never read any of Tom's books (a fact about which he was intensely relieved) but who had heard of them because her hairdresser never stopped talking about them.

"I remember that guy," Sybil said. "How could I ever forget him when he was stark naked the night I met him?"

Tom threw his head back laughing. "God, I was a cocky little bastard, wasn't I?"

" _Was_?"

"What!? I've mellowed in my old age . . . thanks to you." He sighed and added, "I acted like I was so sure of myself, but I might have self-destructed if it weren't for having met you."

Sybil looked into his eyes for a long moment and thought about the sad, broken girl she had been when she'd been coerced by her family to make the trip to Mary and Matthew's wedding. "Me too."

The both smiled and shared a long deep kiss.


End file.
